


Verd Ori'shya Beskar'gam

by Abitmad



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Dark Side vs Light Side (Star Wars), Dysfunctional Family, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Sex, Exile, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Family Issues, Force Ghost Obi-Wan Kenobi, Grief/Mourning, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Training (Star Wars), Loyalty, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian Jedi (Star Wars), Oral Sex, Original Character(s), POV Din Djarin, POV Original Character, Protective Din Djarin, Romance, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Soul-Searching, The Force, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 50,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28050936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abitmad/pseuds/Abitmad
Summary: Din Djarin was stranded on Maldo Kreis with little hope of escape until he is rescued by a mysterious Mandalorian - Briila Kryze - and she seems to understand the Child's magic. Alongside his new, mysterious ally, he searches for a home for the Child and discovers more about his new companion as the past comes back to haunt them.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 70





	1. Kenobi

**Author's Note:**

> Verd ori'shya beskar'gam means "A warrior is more than his armor" in Mando'a

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is handed a prospect he does not believe he can turn away in good faith.

There was a disturbance. 

Sitting up, his eyes turned toward the door, fingers slipping beneath the table for a blaster. Preference dictated that a lightsaber would have worked best, but that life was behind him. He was just Ben now. The door squealed, the lock being picked, before the door shuddered open, the dim lighting of the hut catching reflections off the beskar armor. He paused, confused as to why a Mandalorian would seek him. Those years had long passed and the people of Mandalore were fighting a war against the Sith that had taken their planet past a failed alliance. 

But.... That was before - before the fall and betrayal of his own padawan. A few years had passed since Order 66 and Ben was just getting himself situated. He was close enough to monitor Luke, but also distant enough that he would just be viewed as the hermit in the sand. Now that a Mandalorian stood on his doorstep, he was uncertain what this meant, but the Force sighed in his ears and he wondered - what did this Mandalorian have for him?

Taking a step forward, there was no malice in their gait, instead only a limp that hindered the veteran, their beskar's paint faded and chipped. A child poked their head out, glancing around the Mandalorian to pin their eyes to Ben. Eyes that he recognized. Vibrant blue green eyes were set deeply on the girl's face, just as brilliant a turquoise as Satine's had been before the light had faded from them. Unintentionally, he caught his breath, feeling the radiating Force from the child as she gave him a defiant look. 

"Obi-Wan Kenobi," the Mandalorian entreated.

"I do not go by that name any longer," Ben said tersely, standing to close the door behind them. 

The child did not have Satine's hair, only her eyes. Instead, she had a mess of coppery red hair, similar to that of Satine's sister Bo-Katan.

"I bring this child here and this-" producing a hologram recorder, he offered it to Ben.

Ben took it grudgingly, sitting back down at his quaint table to play it on top. Bo-Katan had aged in the years since he'd last seen her, the war tough on her face, and she appeared haggard, glancing back toward a scene the hologram did not capture. "Obi-Wan-" Bo-Katan began, again another anxious look, "I need your help. Mandalore needs your help."

He had heard a transmission like this before, when he had last gone to Mandalore to try and help Satine.

"I send you my blood, my daughter, the heiress to the Kryze Clan. War is no place for a child, not even a Mandalorian, but then again, why would I choose a Jedi of all people?" she paused, fingers tightening on the helmet under her arm. "I might have sent her somewhere safe, not into the arms of an exile, but it took me a while to discover you. Briila, while raised in the Mandalorian way until this point, has proven that she has other talents. Given the state of the galaxy, I could not keep her so close to the Empire without her being discovered and meeting the same fate as your Order. Please - take my daughter - and train her. Whether this be to hide her abilities or harness them, I do not care, only that she be safe until we reclaim Mandalore."

The hologram puttered out and Ben was left with a dilemma - the child. Glancing over toward her, Briila was tucked safely behind the veteran Mandalorian. 

"I did not take Bo-Katan as one to have a child amidst a war," Ben commented.

"You would be correct, Bo-Katan did not intentionally have a child," the Mandalorian answered cryptically. "She did not realize until she was in labor and is unaware of who the father might be."

These words caught him, glancing once more to the young Kryze child. She did not know? Immediately, his thoughts moved toward his padawan, the one in which made this situation precarious. A mother who did not who the father was, if there even was one. Standing, he retreated to a storage cabinet and pulled out a reader, reminiscing when it had last been utilized. He had intended on using it on Luke when the time came, but that wouldn't be for years - this girl was older than him.

"Come... Briila," Ben entreated.

The child was cautious, peering up at the Mandalorian escort, who gave a firm nod of their head. She trotted forward, no more than 8 or 9 years old. Lifting a chin stubbornly, Ben knew the girl was much too old, just as old as Anakin had been when they discovered him on the same, sandy planet. Where had that gotten them? A child this old already had created bonds and would be difficult to bend toward the light side of the Force. And yet, he did not sense as much fear in her as he had Anakin.

Ben took her arm, swabbing it before drawing a sample. The girl winced, but steadied herself after, staring curiously at what he was doing. "What's that?" she asked.

"A midi-chlorian reader," he answered honestly, submitting her sample into the small machine. 

"And what are those?"

Ben couldn't help but smile, thrown back to when his master had been living, and Anakin had been just as inquisitive. "Microscopic life forms - they are the foundation of life in the galaxy. Some people have more midi-chlorians than others. I am testing how many you have."

Briila nodded slowly, as if she comprehended, but confusion still wafted off of her. The machine was old, but it whizzed and whirled, until a number registered on the counter. Ben stared, then glanced back up at the girl, and eventually back down. It was registering over 20,000.

"Is something wrong?" Briila asked.

Mind spinning, he tethered himself back to reality, reminding himself that he could not lose focus or sight of mind. Still, an eerie feeling pressed itself to him, the chain of events reminding him of those years passed. Though, between the two of them, there was a distinct difference between Anakin and Briila - the girl had been raised by Mandalorians, a war mongering people, a people that would have reminded her that attachments might only get her killed. While this could have pushed the girl more toward the Dark Side, Ben was puzzled to not sense any malice in her. Maybe Bo-Katan had shielded her daughter in her training.

"No," Ben finally answered, the Mandalorian sat down. Using the Force, training the child in it, especially so close to Luke would be dangerous. Part of him was aware that Anakin was unlikely to return to this planet, but that did not mean that the Empire wouldn't send droids. Sitting in front of him was a beacon, a dangerous one, and it could unravel all the good Ben had done in placing himself on Tatooine.

But what else could he do? The child had promise, even more promise than Anakin had originally. If he spurned the girl, then either this ability would be wasted or she would be discovered by the Empire - two scenarios would pan out; she died or she became Sith. Or... she could never leave this hut again, putting an end to all internal conflict Ben had.

A blaster clattered on the table, the Mandalorian pointing it at him. There was a pause, a delay as he released his grip on it and slid it toward Ben. "If you take the child, I know my place, I cannot walk out of here. Only Bo-Katan knows that you're here."

Taking another look at the Mandalorian, he realized that this man had brought the girl, aware that his death would pay for her deliverance. The limp in his gait, the weary sag of his shoulders, this was a warrior who could no longer fight, a shame to his people - the last fight in him had ensured the girl had gotten there. He'd come before Ben, likely promised a warrior's death. Ben glanced at the child, wondering if she felt anything, if she was sad that her guardian would perish. 

Instead, Briila sat quietly, her keen eyes focused on the blaster, then silently turned toward him. Understanding. Comprehension. The man would die and the girl knew that this was the way. 

"Come," Ben decided, picking up the blaster. He glanced toward Briila, who also pushed herself to her feet. "No. Only him."

She sat back down obediently. There was no childish whimper or reaching for her clansman, instead the girl cocked her head and sighed, resigning herself to closing her eyes. None of Bo-Katan's fire seemed to be in the girl, but perhaps that was why Ben even considered doing this. 

Outside, the suns were sinking over the sandy dune mountains. The Mandalorian trotted in front of him, leg more pronounced in its injury. The blue and grey beskar had a hazy look in the crimson glow of sunset, riddled with dents and scratches, the years having turned the burnished armor into nothing but a sliver of its former glory. Moving away from the hut, to the shadow of the mountains that obscured his new home, Ben drew the blaster. He would never grow used to utilizing a blaster, but now, he had no choice and the Mandalorian had chosen it.

"The beskar," the man rasped, removing his helm to reveal a middle aged man. "Take it off of me. Melt it down. Give it to the girl when she has earned it."

Bo-Katan wanted her child tamed, turned into a cross between a Jedi and a Mandalorian. Ben did not tread this path, nor did he intend on the girl doing it. Earthly attachments and possessions like beskar... it would only hinder her. Yet, there was no denying that the girl would ask questions, perhaps even wonder where the beskar had gone. She had to know what it was and the significance it had for her people. Perhaps he would hold onto it, if only that she might create armor for it if she ever did survive these years. 

"I will," Ben promised, raising the blaster.

The man did not look away as he fired, accepting his death as he glowered at the exiled Jedi.

* * *

Originally, there had been incessant worrying that they would be discovered and that taking the Mandalorian child as his charge would do nothing but kill them and Luke. Meditations grounded him, but Ben often wondered if he had made the right choice in taking Briila in. The child listened better than Anakin ever had, a mechanical movement to her, regimented like a soldier. It was odd, there was no youthful exuberance, but he supposed that must have been due in part to growing up amongst war. There had been no time to be a child.

Eventually, the girl began to poke out of her shell, capturing a lone womp rat one day outside the hut. Whirling it around by the tail, the rodent squealed. Briila dropped it on the ground, watching as it tried to scurry away. There was no love lost for the wretched animals - nearly everyone on Tatooine hated the beasts. Ben watched on as she skirted after it, watching as the rat tried to get away, being harassed by the child further. Yet, there was no enjoyment on the girl's face, rather curiosity as she tested the animal. Eventually the womp rat rounded, biting into her hand with razor sharp fangs.

Briila screamed and grappled it to the ground - Ben recognized the martial arts as she wrestled her hand away. Gripping the creature in a headlock, the animal relented only when it had lost enough oxygen. Dropping it to the ground, she staggered over to Ben, revealing her bleeding hand. There was no question in her eyes, no inquiry as to why he had not helped her. She had picked that fight and won, though it only took a few minutes for the womp rat to regain consciousness and scuttle away.

There were many strange encounters like this, as if the child was testing the creatures around her, to gauge her own strength. Their training began with simple trials, meditation and centering the force. While he did not have a training saber to give her, he made due with a wooden construct, a blindfold, and rocks. Quick and obedient, the girl moved through her training with prowess and without question. Still, each day that passed, Ben worried that someone would sense her - even amongst a planet as desolate and ignored as Tatooine. But they never came. 

"Who's that boy?" Briila asked him one day as they passed the village. Many had come to believe the girl was his, the Mandalorian child understanding that she had a part to play. "The one that you watch."

She was looking at Luke, who was little more than a toddler while she was a teenager. He bumbled forward, tripping over his robes, before gurgling back to his mother. Ben stifled a sigh, the girl was perceptive, perhaps too perceptive. "Another like you," he answered simply. 

Briila nodded. "He has a family."

"As do you. As do most."

"No, not like me," Briila disagreed. "My family is strong. My family are warriors. They are farmers."

"Do you miss them?" Ben asked, monitoring her with the Force.

"No," she shrugged, turning those eyes up to him, pinning him to the spot. He did not feel what he had been expecting, there was no longing or sorrow. "My family was never like that-" she gestured to the mother who picked up Luke and kissed his forehead. "There was always war and fighting. No time for relaxing. My mother told me what it meant to come here, though I understand more from you now. Ties like that - do they make you weaker?"

They were treading through dangerous territory now, but Ben drew a shallow breath, considering her. "In a manner of speaking. Loving - to love another - puts you at risk of fearing for said person's life. It puts you at risk as succumbing to the Dark for fear of their life. I have watched this destroy others."

"And there is no remedy?" Briila was puzzled by this. "Remaining neutral is the only way?"

"A very long time ago, it was believed that our kind would marry and have families, but that provided too many paths to darkness," outside the confines of the hut, they spoke in generic terms, never mentioning the Force or Jedi. 

"But there's no self actualization or enlightenment - to understand both and embrace the fear in a way that is beneficial? Or is fear only dark?" Briila theorized. "If I were attacked, you would defend me. Out of duty? Or because you are my Master? Or for a combination of reasons? Who is to say none of those are fear for or of my life being ended?"

"It's not," Ben asserted. "You can feel the fear differently. Here-" he tapped her heart. "You will know, you can feel it as if it is strangling your heart - and then, the darkness comes."

"You have felt this way before," she observed, Satine's eyes settling on him. 

"We are not perfect, we can only strive for perfection. Come along now, we have lingered too long."

While a good listener, Briila always had questions. There was no aggravation in her tone, nor malice, but she wished to comprehend better. Without the temple, without the plethora of resources and proper cycling through her training, Ben was the only Jedi she knew. A bond formed, one that would not have happened had she been raised by droids as other younglings. Even if Briila had more developed emotions than Anakin, he knew that he had become her father in a way. The way the girl looked up at him, he couldn't look away from those eyes. He saw Satine in her often, the diplomatic countenance that would frequently come over her. However, her prowess was like her mother's. 

With the years passing, the forging of her saber, the delicate utilization of the Force - but never too much - Ben had been proud to call her his padawan. But eventually they came. 

"This was not part of our agreement," Ben told Bo-Katan, who was leering at him from across his modest table. 

"Agreement? I asked you to watch my daughter, to train her to develop her abilities, but I warned you that she was my heir to the clan," Bo-Katan said shortly. It had been 15 years, Luke was nearly an adult, and Ben thought that Briila would have made a fine, respectable Jedi Knight, had the Republic still existed. "She belongs with her people. Now that we are not worried about her revealing herself to the Empire, it is time that she came home."

"The child you left here is no longer," Ben warned her. "She has been trained in the way of the Jedi, she is, by rights, a Jedi. Forcing her to become what she left behind will corrupt her nature, it may cause more problems."

"The Jedi do not exist any longer, need I remind you of this?" Bo-Katan said thinly.

"Neither does Mandalore."

Bo-Katan's nostrils flared. The planet was nigh habitable. Even years ago, when Satine had been alive, the cities required being domed in to prevent the toxic atmosphere from killing the citizens. Still, this was what she wanted and she would die trying to steal it from the clutches of the Empire. 

A shadow fell in the doorway where Briila had entered. She paused, drinking in the room, before taking a step forward. Lightsaber in hand, she placed the hilt on the table. "I will go," she announced, her eyes turning to Ben and he could see it, the first bit of emotion she'd betrayed in a very long time - the sadness. "Where I go, I cannot use this."

Bo-Katan sat back, a smirk unfurling across her face, as she had won. "See? The girl knows where she belongs."

But Ben understood this exchange more than Bo-Katan ever would. Luke was coming of age soon and there was a great disturbance in the galaxy. He sensed it. She sensed it. It was time for her to leave. Reluctance hit him, the sorrow of losing a child that he'd raised as his own. Somehow, it felt as if Briila might be Satine and his own, but he knew this could not be true. Only, sitting there, accepting her lightsaber, could he brim with pride of the Jedi he had raised. No. The Mandalorian now. 

"I will hold onto this for you, should you ever return," the words hung on the air, empty and meaningless. Bo-Katan gave him a pitiful look, seeing the old man that Ben had become. Briila would not return, at least, not for a very long time - perhaps after his time. _You know where it will be,_ he told her silently, her eyes snared in his. 

There was no hug, nor a tearful goodbye. Bo-Katan stood, putting an arm around the young woman's shoulders and steered her away. "Wait," Ben stopped them. "A moment. There is something that you should take with you."

He had been saving the beskar for all this time, aware that this day would eventually come. A master could only have one padawan at a time and so, this would never be true until Briila left. In a galaxy where Jedi were mercilessly hunted, it was easier to be a Mandalorian, which bespoke the severity of the girl's predicament. He picked up the crate after removing it from a false spot in the floor, revealing the beskar bars.

Bo-Katan looked up at him, for once not appearing indignant. "You saved this?"

"It is her inheritance," Ben nodded.

Briila accepted the chest, casting a final look at him before they left. Deep in his heart, he knew they would never meet again, but he knew in that moment - a moment of weakness - that he had loved the girl. More than a Master should, he had loved that girl like his own daughter. He might have thought she did too, which was why she left, because staying would cause too many problems. 

He hoped she looked in the bottom of the chest, for she'd find preserved lilies - just as the ones Satine would wear in her hair. 

Picking up her lightsaber, he contemplated. Was it possible to love while not succumbing to fear itself? He flicked it on, realizing - yes, because he did not fear for Briila's future. She would survive and she would find her place just as the Force intended. A pale lavender glow illuminated his face and he smiled, at peace.


	2. Maldo Kreis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din Djarin is stranded on Maldo Kreis and encounters another Mandalorian who seeks out the Child with the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I know this is a bit out of order, but I'm moving 'Episode 10: The Passenger' to fit in after 'Episode 6: The Prisoner’.. Mando accepts transporting the Frog Lady to Trask before leaving Tatooine. My intention is for another return to Tatooine, but due to my purposes and character building, I've jumbled the order of events around.

Someone was traveling slowly - without jumping into hyperspace or sub-light, as it tended to be dangerous. The only folks who bothered doing such a thing were desperate, pirates, or had broken parts. Having dropped out of her own quick, interstellar travel, she listed forward as she watched a pair of New Republic X-Wings pull up alongside of it. Flipping the switches on her radio, she decided to listen on, only in humor and because she was bored. There was a reason for why the Force was tugging her toward them, but she couldn't say just yet.

"This is Captain Carson Teva, Razor Crest, do you hear me?" 

She found the channel and listened on. 

"Copy, this is the Razor Crest," an uncertain voice answered eventually.

"We've stopped you today because it appears that you're not transponding. Is there a reason why?"

Another long pause over the radio. "The ship is pre-Empire surplus and isn't required to run a beacon."

"This sector is now under New Republic jurisdiction, all ships are now required to have beacons."

"Ah, I'll get on that when I get to port."

"Have a safe journey then."

She was slightly disappointed, having believed that there might be something more to guide her on her aimless journey through space. The X-Wings didn't move.

"But just before, can you send me a ping?" the captain inquired.

The pilot of the Razor Crest was eerily silent for a moment. "It appears... that the system isn't working..."

"We can wait while you get it online. However, if we cannot confirm that you're not Imperial, we will need to escort you back to Adelphi outpost," the Republic officer explained.

Another pause.

"Wolf can you switch to channel 2?"

The Republic pilots moved to another channel to speak, still flanking the ship, before their S-foils opened to move to their attack position. Briila let out a low sigh, but not a haggard one, rather the air wooshed out in excitement.  _ This  _ was what she had been looking for. Preparing her own ship, which was listing up lazily behind theirs

"Razor Crest, have you been in the vicinity of New Republic Correctional Transport Bothan-Five?"

The Razor Crest banked it toward the nearest planet, moving with astonishing speed for such an old junker. Maldo Kreis loomed in front of them, a desolate ice planet with few habitable (or worth habiting) locations. Driving her cruiser after them, she tailed the trio as the pilot of the Razor Crest began moving elusively in an attempt to shake off the Republic. Diving through the clouds, the silver of the Crest was blending in in comparison to the flighty X-Wings. Still, it was at a disadvantage in size. "R8, you getting a good enough reading or are we too far behind?" Briila asked, flanking as they nosed through the fluffy clouds

The droid beeped and booped, signifying that they needed to get close to try and keep a better track.

"I don't want the Republic peeling off on me too," she reminded it. "Our codes aren't exactly clean after that fiasco on Ryloth."

R8-T1 beeped back indignantly.

"Easy for you to say. You were here back at the ship! Maybe if I had such a clever droid  _ with  _ me, I wouldn't have been discovered," she booked down, passing into a crevasse, noticing the X-Wings driving in front of her. "Damn good pilot if he's evading in-" she saw shrapnel and pieces of metal flying back from where the ship had scraped against the sheer ice cliffs. "Might not be evading too much longer."

Swooping low, she went under the X-Wings which hooked around, searching for the direction in which the Razor Crest had disappeared in. Similarly, she had lost visual, trying not to creep too close to the Republic and risk being caught. "Take control and begin moving slowly, I'm going to reach out," she told R8, easing off the controls after feeling the droid begin to drop them lower.

Taking in a deep breath, Briila closed her eyes, trusting the astromech to do as she asked. Reaching out like this, it had once been dangerous and restricted - a thing that Kenobi had warned her not to do. The Empire had fallen, the Force sensitive Skywalker wasn't refined in his talents just yet to know she was here. Many a time she had contemplated going to him, but rescinded the thought. The Force would guide her and it hadn't told her to go after him. She hadn't touched her lightsaber in years, buried beneath sand and dust on Tatooine. A planet that had little to give back to her.

Not that Mandalore had provided much either.

She moved the Force, like tentacles throughout the cracks and caves, searching for anything that would interact with her - a hello or respite. Combing an entire planet would take days and she needed to fuel up soon. That had been the entire reason for coming out of hyperspace before she was attracted by the Razor Crest's aura. They  _ had  _ to be nearby. Time ceased to flow, only her divine purpose mattered. So many years gone by, never knowing where she belonged. Her midi-chlorian count had been significantly high, but it didn't matter. Her purpose and fate had not been destined to be intertwined with the Skywalker legacy. Even if her mother believed it, her destiny was not on Mandalore just yet either.

Her mother. Or, the woman who called herself such. Briila had not been raised by her, only taken as an adult to rejoin her 'people'. The Creed she swore felt empty, like a husk, the words echoing through a chamber in which no one stood.  _ This is the way. _ But Briila couldn't walk it, she'd been unable to, especially after the years of her mother's preening and insistence that she belonged there. Briila did not belong.

The Force pulsed, drawing her in, beckoning like a lurid lover. Opening her eyes, Briila grabbed the wheel. "Found them," she told R8, who relinquished control back to her. They circled round to where the Force was guiding her, fissures in the ice leading to a large pit, something had crashed through the ice. Peels of smoke crept in the chasm, catching beneath the overhang, not dispersing into the sky. 

Her cruiser navigated carefully, the Razor Crest having carved out a large enough path that she could tuck in, landing on an ice shelf in the cave, before popping her hatch. B8 inquired quietly, though the beeps echoed through the cavern. 

"You can come. Look at the sight of that thing," she glanced toward where the Crest had crashed. The hull was torn open completely, ice clinging to the exterior, frost licking the cockpit. "It's been a while," she realized, B8 reprimanding her as it managed to navigate down the shelf to the ground beside her. "Hello?" her mellow, alto voice bounced against the walls, but there was no answer. A piece of cloth flapped like a wing against the torn hull. Briila could not sense anyone, not in this close proximity. Tapping her helmet to turn on the thermal vision, she glanced around, noticing the traces of footprints leading deeper into the cave. "Mm, I've got a bad feeling about this."

R8 agreed.

Drawing her assault rifle, Briila propped it against her shoulder. "Assess the ship, I'll be back," she promised the droid, beginning her trek through the cave. There were lifeforces aside from her own, this much she could sense, but there were too many to truly discern between them. Given the nature of the terrain she was in, there were a few creatures that came to mind, Maldo Kreis didn't have many fauna that were pleasant. Crunching in the snow around the corner drew her attention, she paused, raising her rifle.

A man in beskar slid around the corner, followed by a frog, and - a child was in his arms. Briila ogled for a moment, but the other Mandalorian, having seen her beskar, shoved her around. 

"Run!"

* * *

Rounding the corner, he nearly ran headlong into a woman that was wearing dark teal and purple beskar. Only deciding her gender by her helm, the T-shaped visor more detailed and accentuated, in a feminine manner - he hadn't the time to thank the Gods that another Mandalorian had found him. Instead, he forced her around as she lowered her rifle, shoving her in front of him. 

"Run!"

The ice spiders appeared from every nook and cranny, flowing over like a tsunami as the child screeched. His charge, the passenger, was leaping around on all four, desperately trying to get ahead. Turning, he heard the triple shot of the assault rifle go off, taking a few spiders out as the female Mandalorian ran backwards, trailing her weapon up just as the enormous, queen spider, traipsed on the ice above them. 

"Mother of a bald bantha-" the woman cursed, just as a leg jabbed down at them through the ice like a javelin, missing Din by inches.

Removing grenades from her waist, she pressed the middle, the orbs springing to life with blue static. Slinging them up toward the ceiling, the grenades stuck to the ice. Once they cleared another corner, the Mandalorian detonated them with a button on her glove. Behind them, the screams of the spiders could be heard as the grenades pulsed, killing the smaller ones and paralyzing the dog sized spiders. They had just a split second of reprieve. 

"Get to the cockpit!" he ordered, directing his attention to the frog lady, still having her eggs slung over his back. He turned, shooting the nearest few spiders with his blaster. 

The other Mandalorian had her rifle pressed in the nape of her shoulder, taking spiders out dexterously, the triple burst disengaging the enemy. He spotted her cruiser, parked up on an ice shelf, a small, one person vehicle. How she had found him, Din couldn't say, but he was certainly glad for the help. 

The ice above the cruiser shattered, the goliath spider spearing the small ship with a leg. His new companion groaned, but turned her weapon on it, swapping the safety indicator on her rifle to a third position, the weapon hummed. "Cover me, I might be able to stun it," she requested, the weapon requiring time to charge up before it could fire.

"We don't have time!" Din realized, the rest of the hive catching up with their mother. He removed a small trip mine and threw it, scattering the mob in a pop, tiny spider limbs and carcasses raining all around. "What are you-"

The Mandalorian engaged her jetpack, or at least, he thought she had by the distance that she covered in a jump. The fluttering of a dark cloak, he realized it hadn't been the pack she wore. Above the spitting and hissing of the other spiders, she soared, giving Din little time to dive into his ship, child still in hand as he stumbled into the cockpit. 

"Beep boop-"

"Is that-'' he started, but as he tried to force the doors to the cockpit closed, he saw the dilemma. Spiders were attempting to gain access, preventing them from sealing. Firing off the blaster, the cave quaked as the powered up charge from the rifle boomed. The younger spiders stopped trying to claw their way in, withdrawing from their attack, and scuttling away. With a snick, the cockpit door closed and Din turned around to where the frog lady was sitting, quaking slightly. He set her eggs down, blood rushing in his ears, wondering what might have happened had the strange Mandalorian not appeared. 

There was a knock on the door. “Mind opening up?” the female entreated, her sonorous voice penetrating the thick steel doors. 

Din relented, opening the hatch to see the Mandalorian in her full glory. She was lean, but shorter than himself. The lower portion of her beskar was covered slightly by a sur-skirt, thick, padded and a vivid shade of deep teal. The rest of the beskar was painted a royal violet and accented by teal. On her shoulder, the pauldrons were off, almost as if the crest had been replaced not by the hand of a smith. Whatever had been there before, he could not tell, but instead there was a white flower.

"Who are you?" Din finally managed. This was not a Mandalorian that he knew, nor have even seen before. 

"Briila Kryze-Calla, from Clan Calla," she entreated, removing her helm before reaching out to shake his hand. 

Din was startled, a woman staring back at him, after giving him her clan name. Her fiery red hair was braided in a crown around her head, a pair of twin lilies tucked behind her ears. She had a full mouth, which naturally smirked in a fox-like manner, her eyes deep set and a piercing turquoise beneath thick winged brows, a straight nose, and high cheekbones. There was something warm about her, between her voice and the heart shape of her face, but Din was too disturbed to put a finger on it. 

"What are you doing?" he hissed. 

The woman, Briila, paused. "What am I- Oh," realization clearly dawned on her. Replacing her helmet, she gave a nod. "You must be a Child of the Watch."

"I am, what does that have to do with anything? A true Mandalorian does not remove their helmet."

"Are we truly going to debate what a real Mandalorian is when we're stranded here and your ship is unflyable? Meanwhile, you have a cold blooded passenger and have yet to thank me for helping you," Calla retorted sharply. "I was born  _ on  _ Mandalore. This is  _ my  _ beskar.  _ I _ painted it myself."

Din pursed his lips, but knew that she was right. They could debate their Creed later. For now, the priority was to get the ship running and the heat started again. He had been putting it off, dampered by his responsibilities and the situation that he had found himself in. "Thank you," he finally managed. 

Placing a hand on her hip, she glanced around. "Well, I might've been able to fly to the nearest outpost for parts, but seeing that my cruiser is now a pile of scrap, might as well repurpose it into your ship."

"Know anything about patching a hull?"

"Might know a bit. Are you able to put the heat on in the cockpit for your friend?" she glanced over at the frog lady, whose name still eluded him. However, her head turned to the child, who she paused on. His hackles rose, hand inching toward his holstered blaster. "What's his name?"

"Dunno," he still didn't know if he could trust her. Maybe she saved him just for the bounty on the child's head. Then again, now she was stranded in this desolate wasteland. "And I, maybe, can spare some of the ship's energy."

The child was also interested in the woman, having tottered down from the chair that he had been placed on. Crouching down, she extended a hand, the child cooing and grasping her finger. "Funny," she mumbled, the child staring deeply toward the visor on her mask. There was a tense bit of silence, Din wondering what was going on between them. The kid only got this sort of look, akin to when he was concentrating on working his magic. "Well, back over there," she lifted him and put the kid back on the seat, turning around with a flap of her violet cloak, before she dropped down the ladder.

Dropping his hand, he started the ship, noticing the grating gurgle it made alongside the puttering. Sighing, he turned the engine over before cranking the heat, closing the cockpit doors behind him to see where Calla had gotten to. She was down below, inspecting the frayed wires, an astromech chirping beside her. 

"Hey, what is that?" he asked sternly, the droid turning to look at him.

"My droid, R8-T1. Never seen an astromech before? Man, the Children of the Watch  _ are  _ sheltered," she whistled.

Din scowled, not that she could see it. "I've seen astromechs before. You're not bringing it with us are you?"

"Yes, I am bringing R8 with us, it's been a loyal and trusty companion for many lightyears. It can also help connect the proper wires that require fixing," Calla pointed out, the droid booping beside her, almost sounding disappointed as it hid behind her leg. "Sh, it's fine. I'm not going to leave you to freeze with the spiders."

"You speak droid?"

"A lot of questions, huh? I'm here to help."

"I don't know you. For all I know you're here to collect a bounty."

Calla snorted and turned back to the work. "I heard you get pulled over by the New Republic. I followed because I was interested in finding out just  _ who  _ was flying an untraceable ship. Didn't think I'd find a Mandalorian. I was stopping here on Maldo Kreis to refuel," though she paused, as if sensing his trepidation. "Why would I be here to collect a bounty?" she mused, tapping her helm as if it were her chin. "You have a bounty on you?"

Either she was playing dumb or didn't know, but he didn't have time to kill, waiting for the fuel to run out in his ship. 

"Lighten up, I wouldn't turn a fellow Mandalorian in, whatever the bounty were," Calla informed him, glancing down at the droid who had begun scanning the exposed hull. Watching the holograph she let out a low whistle. "You handy?"

"Tell me what to do and I'll manage," Din relented. 

The droid was more useful than he cared to admit, mostly because it was its job to repair ships. Calla was aware of what she was doing, reattaching wires and soldering the pieces of her destroyed cruiser to fit the gaping hole in his own ship. Once the outer hull was replaced, R8-T1 reconnected wires, and then helped in cutting the last of the shrapnel to fill the inner hull. Din assisted in carrying pieces of Calla's ship over, though he had to do little of the mechanic work himself. Both droid and Mandalorian had that covered, head bowed as they continued for hours.

Out on the wings were next, the droid managing to do most of the work with its magnetic feet, getting to the hard to reach areas. With the rest of the ship now receiving power, Calla inspected the hours’ worth of work and glanced over at him. "It'll fly and hold up, even in space. Not certain about the landing gear, considering that it's still crusted to the ice below. But the ship itself seems like it needs an overhaul."

Din grimaced, but nodded, thankful that there had been a way to patch it up at all. The Razor Crest looked as if it were on its last leg, the R8 droid beeping around energetically as it looked for praise for its work. Calla pat it on the top like a dog. 

"I can drop you off at the next planet, I'm stopping in Trask."

Calla dropped her arms from her hips. "Trask? Don't like water much," she then stretched her arms up and then swung back toward him. "I want to talk to you about the kid."

Din was on edge again, wondering if she were going to try to barter the child off of him like so many others. "What about him?"

"He's special," Calla said shortly, a change in her humored alto. There was a cool edge, but a strange natural lilt to it; mysterious almost. "It's been a long time since I've met someone like him. He needs a proper teacher."

"You know what he is?" Din relaxed.

"Not what he is, but we can speak more of this on the ship, unless you're keen on waiting for that spider's husband to appear-" she gestured to the collapsed body of the massive queen. 

"Very well," he agreed.

They boarded the ship again, stuffing into the cockpit. With nowhere to go, the female Mandalorian stood behind him as he began flipping switches. The ship shuddered, but the engine was no longer puttering as much. Holding his breath, he lifted off the ground, metal falling off beneath the ship where the landing gear had crashed onto the thick stone. But the ship reacted and he was able to steer it, scraping a wing on the wall, out of the pit and through the crevasse. Once they had taken back to the sky, the Frog Lady let out a small breath of air, nearly becoming a puddle in her seat from how anxious she had been.

"The kid," Din started again.

"Not here."

She didn't trust the alien. Bringing them out of Maldo Kreis's atmosphere, he set the navigation course for Trask, but was certain not to engage the hyperdrive. Turning toward her, he picked up the kid, and jumped down the ladder into the cabin. Calla followed, leaning against the rungs as the door to the cockpit was shut with the passenger.

"He's done things, hasn't he? Maybe moved things with his mind?"

"He has," Din answered, the child crooning toward her. "He seems to like you."

"We're kindred spirits," Calla admitted, opening her hands. "May I?"

Din was reluctant, but thus far, the Mandalorian had been nothing but helpful. Honestly, he was desperate for answers about the child. How had she known that he could move things? Passing the child over, Calla propped him up, closer to her face. He reached forward and placed his palms on her helmet. 

Din cleared his throat, breaking up whatever moment the two were having. 

"He's Force-Sensitive," she explained. "I need to meditate with him to truly understand how skilled, but... I sense much fear in him."

"Sense? Force-Sensitive?" he vaguely had heard of it before.

"Before the fall of the Old Republic, there was an order, called Jedi. They were warriors, knights, protectors of the galaxy who wielded the Force - the Force lives in everything and everyone. Jedi were just better at connecting with it. Call it a 6th sense, the ability to feel without seeing, to know how people feel, to communicate with others with such perception..." she drew a breath. "This child, he seems to have trained with them, the Jedi. He's quite old, isn't he? At least, in respect to how he looks."

"He's 50, I believe his race is rather slow developing," Din admitted, but didn't truly know. Her explanation, she knew a lot about this subject. "How do you know so much about the Jedi?"

"I knew a Jedi Master a long while ago," Calla admitted. "He told me of these things, he trained me in some of them, but I never lived in their temples or walked amongst their halls when the Old Republic was thriving. I returned to my clan after I spent time with him."

"Then you can train him," Din realized, astonished that such a blessing had fallen into his lap.

"To be honest, his aura is what drew me in. I could sense the Force drawing me toward your ship. They - the Jedi - say that the Force determines our fate, that it tugs us toward our destinies. But..." she let her voice fall. "I am no Jedi Master, I'm afraid I wouldn't suffice to train him. Perhaps, I may be able to help hone his senses, but that does not make up for a true master and there are very few of them left - if any."

"Help me find one," Din entreated. The child liked her and if Calla knew of the Force, then perhaps this partnership was his best bet. Calla could sense others with the Force, why not a Jedi Master? 

Considering him, the woman nodded. "I, Briila Kryze-Calla, swear to deliver this child to a proper, Jedi Master," she swore. "This is the way."

"This is the way," he agreed. "Before, what you said about the Children of the Watch... Why do you remove your helm?"

"That's a rather long, arduous thing to explain, maybe we should go back in the cockpit while traveling low-light."

Din nodded and they returned to the cockpit, where he settled into his seat, watching as they skimmed through space and toward Trask. The frog lady had fallen asleep on her jar of eggs, snoozing softly as she was buckled into her seat. Calla sat with the child in her lap, playing absentmindedly with his hands. 

"The Children of the Watch, as I assume you belong to, follows The Way of the Mandalore, as many of us do. However, the difference between you and I, I assume you are a foundling and not born on Mandalore-"

"This is correct."

"The Way is interpreted differently by different clans. Those that I know, descended or born on Mandalore, have never had an issue with removing their helm. This ideology seems to be solely a trait of The Children of the Watch. I cannot tell you what is right or wrong, but my own blood removes their helm and trust me, they're Mandalorian," she explained briefly. 

"You seem to know a lot about Mandalore," Din realized, perturbed that the way of his own people was unlike those born on the planet of their namesake. 

"Yes, I suppose I do-" Calla enthralled him with the history, from before they were born, to the pacifistic regime that was subverted by the Death Watch. Her recounting of history, one that he had never known, was detailed - as if told to her by someone that had been there. Perhaps it was, he didn't know for certain. She brought it round to the Great Purge, though mentioning that she had been on Tatooine when it had happened. "Abysmal planet," she grumbled. "But, if you prefer it, I will refrain from removing my helmet."

"You're not going to try and get me to remove mine? You're the 'real' Mandalorian," Din said, an effort at making a joke.

"I'm not-" she sighed, head sagging slightly as she glanced at the child slumbering in her lap. "You're just as much a Mandalorian as me and nor is it my place to force you to do anything. You were raised by that Way, your helm has become part of your identity. I have just met you, my blood does not make me any better or right."

Din preferred that answer, one where he was free to do as he chose without judgement. Given the history and explanations, the context suddenly came into sharp clarity. Calla had not said it, but she hinted at The Children of the Watch being a cult, but that wasn't to say she hadn't spoken of Death Watch in the same manner. Mandalore had a lot of dark history and factions that wished to see different regimes rise. 

"You know, you never told me your name," she pointed out mischievously. She had that tone a lot. Even if he could not see her face, there was a keen ring to it.

"Mando is fine," though it felt weird telling a Mandalorian than. He'd told no one his real name since he was a child, speaking it now, to a stranger - even if she was Mandalorian - felt queer.

She did not question him, which took him aback. "Do you mind if I keep the child with me? I want to try meditating with him - to learn more."

Still reluctant, he knew she had nowhere to go. Eventually, he nodded. She stood, taking the child with her, she leaped down the stairs and only silence radiated from down below. Sinking into his own thoughts, he considered the events of the day, and the curious Mandalorian he had met. He had been wondering what to do with the kid, but given the Empire's interest in him, he had been darting between planets in the Outer Rim in an attempt to shake them before he could try investigating again. Maybe this 'Force' had a larger part to play, having steered a Force-Sensitive Mandalorian to swoop in and save the day.

He snorted, thinking of the cave, and how he'd been pinned with little hope.  _ I'll have to look at her gun later, it had the capability to swap between automatic 3 round burst and a cannon. _

He considered her retelling of history, the description of the armor of the Death Watch, familiar to those that had saved him as a child. Had they removed their helmets? He couldn't remember, not truly, it had been so long ago. 

His communicator sputtered with the visage of Greef Karga. Having severed his ties with the Guild after they had demanded the child, he had hoped not to see the disgraced magistrate's face again. Yet there he was, trying to get through with a hologram. Grimacing, Din let it play. 

"Mando, I am contacting you because you are our last chance. Since you left, the Client which hired the Guild, has imposed despotic rule over the city, impeding our business. The Guild now considers the Client as a mutual enemy, though we are not able to get close enough to take him out. I offer you a choice, return to Nevarro with the child as bait for the Client, before ending him. If we succeed, you get to keep the child and I will clear your name with the Guild. A man of honor should not live in exile. I await your response."

The noise was enough to wake the frog lady, to which he simply glanced, considering the offer. If there was a possibility of ending this goose chase, he should take it. However, he'd need more backup. Just the assistance of the Mandalorian he had just met might not be enough, despite the fact that she had swore an oath to help deliver the child safely to a Jedi. 

His systems pinged, indicating that they would be arriving at Trask in twenty minutes. "We'll be there soon," he assured the passenger, standing up again to check on the child.

Down below he was astonished by what he saw. Sitting in the open, both Calla and the kid were sitting, legs crossed. She had removed her helmet, the calm, serene look on her face making her look younger than before, less weary. Facing each other, they seemed engaged in a conversation that he could not hear. 

Finally, after staring for a few minutes, Calla opened her vibrant eyes, rooting him to the spot. "His name is Grogu."

The child stirred, turning his head in acknowledgement, cooing excitedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Thank you so much for reading. I would like to acknowledge that while I tried to be as coherent as possible when it came to timelines, I understand that Briila's age does not line up perfectly.
> 
> Thus, I am aging Bo-Katan up so that she would have been 30 by the point of Briila being 9. Meaning, Briila would have been born around 19 BBY, right after Satine's death and Obi-Wan left the planet. Again, which means that all the events happening - Order 66, the fall of the Republic, would have happened later. 
> 
> For age references - Luke is 17, so Briila is 25 - about the age a padawan goes through their trials to become a full Jedi.
> 
> At the time of the Mandolorian, this makes Briila about 34-35, afterall, who's got time for birthdays?


	3. Pitstop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Razor Crest stops on Trask to drop of the passenger and make necessary repairs before planning to return to Nevarro.

Trask was amongst the least favorite planets she'd ever been too. Actually, she disliked most planets unless they were green and without strange, severe weather. Unlucky her. Their landing was less than stellar, the landing equipment shot just like she had thought. Stowing in the cockpit, they missed the landing pad by a narrow margin, falling into the water, surrounded by its inky, green darkness. Stilling her emotions, she did her best not to be bothered by the feeling of being smothered, a crane eventually fishing them out as they bobbed along the surface.

Still, the Force had led her here, to a Mandalorian who didn't know her family and a child that hummed with power. During their conversation, she came to understand that had been a youngling, stowed away before Anakin Skywalker murdered his peers. Just the darkness of the shoulders of such a small, darling creature shook her. He had hid his abilities, trying to remain undiscovered. It only worked for a time before he was abducted by the Empire and used for experiments. She shared a bit about herself, the time she had spent with Obi-Wan, her master, and that he was also of the Old Republic. Her own memories were different than his, as she aged, growing into her abilities and strengths; healing and tinkering. Kenobi had told her once, that due to her prowess with the Force, talents came more naturally. But why be a jack of all trades? _And master of none_ , she reminded herself duly. While having trained just as any other would, to fight, her interest had never laid there. Not that it had been bad that she knew how to hold her own when she rejoined the Kryze Clan. There were still hot emotions between some of them who recalled fighting Jedi on Mandalore, but they knew of another, that she was hoping they could locate.

_He might know where to go. We'll need to go find him,_ she realized, flexing her fingers as she considered the only family that she found worth contacting. Bo-Katan might know, but she wouldn't give her 'mother' the satisfaction of sending a hologram. 

The ship groaned under the effort of being placed back on the landing pad, R8 booping curiously. 

"Right, I think so too," she agreed with it, watching as Mando and his passenger came down from the cockpit. 

He looked at her, or at least, she knew he had by the turn of his helmet and the impassive manner in which he stood. Despite her oath, he was still wary of her. Good. Better to be cautious than to go trusting random Mandalorians. The man was tall, overstepping her by a head, despite her average height. Lean, rather than broad, the beskar suited him well, but she noticed there was no clan insignia, nor had he painted it, leaving it as shiny as the day it had come off the forge. 

"I'm seeing her off," he said sternly, poising the question silently.

"Ship needs more repairs. R8 and I will begin working on them, specifically the landing gear. We still have enough scrap stowed that we can make due. Get Grogu some real food," she answered, the child having been rather moody after their meditation session. Passing the visions between one another had been exhausting for one as small and out of practice, such as himself. "What's our next destination?"

Mando did not answer. "We will discuss it once I return."

Pursing her lips, she gave him a mute nod, before stepping out onto Trask with the rest of them. A pad attendant rushed forward with an information tablet. 

"Do you require any work?" he asked Mando, looking the man up and down, specifically the shiny beskar.

_Great, we're not going to go unnoticed._

"No, my companion is seeing to our repairs," Mando replied firmly, following the frog lady as she excitedly hopped through the streets in search of her husband.

Inspecting the damage on the ship, she gave a low, but rather pleased hum at their work on the hull. "Surprised we did that well given the circumstances," she commended R8. Water still leaked from several spots and kelp had draped itself over the engines like a bad toupe. "Landing gear, that engine that scraped the cave, and anything else we notice-" she drafted, the droid chirping as it began to assess what required work first. Eventually, the droid gave a rather disappointed sound. "That long? Do you _really_ think it's going to take the two of us that long?"

R8 confirmed.

"Tail of a sweaty womp rat-" she grumbled. "Well, let's get at it. Complaining about it only loses us time."

R8 and Briila worked in unison, the droid beeping as it constantly checked the damages to give progress updates. There was solace in doing repairs or crafting new items. Putting her head down, Briila felt almost as if she were meditating. Master Kenobi had once told her that this was how many tinker Jedi felt, at peace as they invented and repaired. Time ceased to flow, only the Force swaddled her in a comforting blanket, allowing her to work hours further than what a normal human body would allow. No exhaustion set in, despite the challenges of the day, only the task at hand dangled before her - which she set her mind to - soldering, fraying wires to repair them, and continuing to achieve her quest: completion. 

It had puzzled her many times before, thinking of her first exchange with her Master, how he had tested her midi-chlorians. Only after leaving her Clan years later, would she realize what the reading had meant. A child with more than 20,000 midi-chlorians was astonishing. From the data she had retrieved in the abandoned Jedi temple and archives, she knew that her Master only had 15,000, and she had always believed him to be amongst the strongest Jedi. What did it mean? Nothing. The midi-chlorians were potential and potential had to be harvested. Briila's potential was not in being the best fighter, despite her blood, it was in her mind and hands - hands that could mend flesh and metal.

Why not train the child? 

_I am not the right one,_ she knew, deep down that the child, Grogu, needed a true Jedi. Briila had walked away from that path when she rejoined her mother, but after leaving the clan, there was an emptiness. She never belonged, probably because she did not grow up Mandalorian - she grew up a Jedi. Even the beskar she wore, did not feel her own. She could hear the song of whom it had belonged to, the warrior that had brought her to Tatooine before facing his fate at the hands of a Jedi. He had wanted this, for her to have it, believing that a child with such connection to the Force would be the next Mand'alor that united the peaceful citizens and the warriors.

_It was never intended to be that way. Obi-Wan knew this when he took me in. I never aspired for such a title, but that's what was expected of me - at least, until I left,_ she thought wistfully of her Master. Their connection had been more than most could understand, the hum between the Force, their bond over the years growing. He was the only parental figure she knew, despite the fact he tried to remain stoic and objective when training her. _I never did say goodbye to him. Not in the way I should have._

Thinking back to the day that Bo-Katan had collected her, was painful. Her Master had grown old over the years, but she had not wished to leave him. The disturbance in the galaxy hinted that it was nearly time for Luke to come of age, to finally step from out of the sands of Tatooine and thus, signaled the end of her training with Kenobi. Bo-Katan took this as the coming of her birthright, that the miracle child would join the Mandalorians and guide them to victory. 

_And all I wished to do was tinker and invent._

R8 stirred her from her thoughts, remarking on the work they had done. Hours had passed - maybe more than that - as the sky had darkened and dawn was on the horizon. Exhaustion finally creeping into her bones, she laughed at her partner. "Hopefully, Mando will be back soon and we can talk about where we're going next." 

They boarded the ship together, R8 letting out a sad chirp.

"He has a thing against droids, I can tell. Don't worry, I think he'll take a shine to you eventually," Briila assured the astromech, bending down. "Do you mind?"

R8 popped its storage open and offered her some rations. Dragging herself up to the cockpit, she threw herself into the copilot seat and munched on the tasteless bar. Still wasn't as bad as the womp rat that Kenobi had made her eat once. Washing it down with water, her weariness led her to doze off in her seat, helmet in her lap, as she waited for Mando to return.

* * *

Honestly, he'd spent longer on the planet than he had originally intended. The frog man had insisted on providing what information he could, but this required a proper translator and finding one - who was willing - ended up being an arduous task. Eventually, they had settled in a tavern so that he could feed the kid... no... Grogu. His newest companion was swaddled in mystery and he didn't know how to think about that. Capable of communicating with Grogu through some weird magic, he couldn't deny that she'd assessed correctly. Calling the kid's name caused his head to swivel, bat-like ears wagging as he cooed in acknowledgement. Snickering to himself, he glanced around the pub, noticing the unkind looks from the Calamari Mon. 

_Overstaying my welcome,_ he realized, considering what the frog man had told him. There were more Mandalorians, but they seemed to be hunting and were occupied. Since he had to go back to Nevarro, bringing a group of Mandalorians with him would be ideal, but after hearing Calla's explanation about different sects, he was wondering if he could trust them as he trusted his own brothers and sisters. He had been reluctant to trust Calla, even if she had control of the same Force as the child. There was something about her that didn't seem completely Mandalorian about her - then again, he didn't know any Mandalorians outside his sect.

"Stop playing with your food, we need to go soon," Din told Grogu, knocking the tiny octopus off his face and back into the slop. There wasn't much appetizing food on Trask, but he had managed to grab enough rations to see them to Nevarro and had also put an order in for a cot, blanket, and pillow for Calla to use. 

The child squealed, glaring at the bowl as if the creature within it might have another go at him. 

Once Grogu had finished, Din paid, and started back toward the landing pads where the Razor Crest had been parked. Hours had passed and he hoped it had been enough time for the newest additions to his team to have at least repaired the landing gear. Upon closer inspection, he was astonished to see that not only had the landing gear been fully repaired, but other minor issues had also been remedied. _I wasn't gone that long,_ maybe hours, but long enough to have given Calla time to do all this work? _A lot easier when you're a mechanic, knowing what you're doing, I suppose._

On board, the R8 droid was charging quietly in a corner. He didn't like the thing, but it wasn't his place to say to get rid of it. Not once, but twice Calla had saved him on the expensive cost of repairing severe damage to his ship. The least he could do was tolerate an astromech. Letting Grogu out of his pram, he brought the child up into the cockpit where Calla was dozing, slouched in a chair, with her helmet off. There was no mischief on her face, only a calm, serene look as her eyes flickered beneath her lids. He was also tired, but he hadn't been the one making extensive repairs to a ship. Glancing at her, perhaps a bit too long, he thought that she was rather comely.

Turning over the engines, he was pleased to hear them hum without any odd or disturbing noises. Calla woke with a start, sitting up and glancing around wildly before settling back down. Replacing her helm, she glanced back to where the child was sitting, and then relaxed. "You were out a bit longer than I expected," she admitted. Admittedly, he was a bit sad to see the helm go on, though she did it out of respect for him.

"Gathering information. There appear to be more Mandalorians here, but we don't have the time to go searching for them," Din explained, but they could always return later to see if they still lingered. 

"Why not?" Calla inquired.

"I received a hologram-" he flipped on the message, letting it replay for her. Only after did he realize that he hadn't fully explained his situation to her, just that the Empire was seeking the child. "I belonged to the Guild before we had a falling out over the child. I was tasked with bringing him to an Imperial officer, just to find out they were using him for experiments. Rather than give him over, I fought my way out. Since then, I've been trying to find out more on where to bring him, but the Empire has been dogging my heels ever since."

"Mm," Calla contemplated, turning to glance at the child who had fallen asleep in his seat. "I don't like this plan. It needlessly endangers the child and we do not know if this contact is trustworthy, since they already betrayed you once, who is to say this is not another trap?"

Din agreed, he had the same train of thought. "I intend on stopping to get more allies, he did not specify on whether or not I could bring others."

"What, am I not enough?" it was a joke, he could hear it in her voice. 

"We don't know how many Imperials there are," he answered smoothly.

"Grogu is your charge. If you believe this is the right choice to make, then I shall follow you," Calla relented. "Where are we off to?"

"Sorgan," he told her, putting the coordinates in, before engaging the controls to put them into hyperspace. "It'll be some time, might want to catch up on the rest of your sleep."

Calla nodded, relinquishing back to the seat as she stretched her legs out.

"No, I got you a cot," Din explained. Not knowing how long it would take to find the child an appropriate master, he planned that Calla was going to be there for a while. 

Lifting her head, she stared at him, stoic, maybe a little curious. "Oh. That's better than a chair. Thanks," standing up, she hopped down the ladder and busied herself with unpacking the new supplies that had been delivered to the ship. 

Checking the coordinates one last time, Din turned and picked up the drowsy child, and climbed down the ladder. Calla had swiftly found the box with the sleeping gear, having unfolded the cot and tossed the pillow on it. Her rifle was propped against the nearby wall and she was removing her beskar. Untangling her hair, which was quite long, she flopped onto the cot and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. 

Grogu crooned, but then looked up at Din with his luminous, warm eyes. "Bed time," Din informed him, opening the door to his bunk, slipping the kid onto his hammock before he did much the same as the other Mandalorian; removed all his beskar aside from his helm - since the kid was with him - and flopped down on his bed, sleeping taking mere seconds to overcome him. 

He woke up to the kid missing and the ship beeping. Flinging himself out of the bunk, he only managed to grab his boots and blaster to see what was going on. Just outside, on her cot, Calla was bouncing Grogu on her knee, long copper hair billowing around her in thick waves. Her sharp eyes turned up to him, then down toward the blaster. "He started making noise and you seemed out - so I had R8 open the door. Figured you could use the sleep," she explained.

He didn't know whether he should be thankful or aggravated. The droid had picked the lock, for all she knew, his helmet could have been off and she would have seen his face. _The kid was with you, she would have assumed you wouldn't put him in the room with you and take the helm off,_ he reminded himself, in spite of his annoyance. If the kid had been making noise, he hadn't heard him. 

Without a word, he returned to his bunk to put on the rest of his beskar, sauntering up the ladder to see how much further they had before coming out of hyperspace. Maybe it was because he wasn't used to being on a ship with other people, but having Calla around felt like an invasion of his privacy. While well intending, Din couldn't help but think about what other things she _might_ be doing when he wasn't looking around. Obviously, a closed door wasn't sacred, especially when it was locked.

Sorgan loomed into view as they kicked out of hyperspace. Behind him, he heard the clicking of boots against the ladder, Calla joining him with the child tucked under her arm. Even if he was annoyed with her, she was good with the kid. Grogu might have been attracted to her because of their shared magic - the Force. He wondered if Grogu could tell that she was good and maybe he should just trust the kid's magical instincts. Calla braided her hair, wrapped it around her head in a crown, and pinned it before putting her helm back on. 

"Ah, a planet with actual trees," Calla commented pleasantly. 

"Sorgon is fine, but not Trask?"

She cocked her helm at him, neck lolling slightly in a pedantic, almost mocking manner. "You're telling me you like Trask better?"

"No, I just find it amusing that you seem to hate most Outer Rim planets," Din acknowledged, his irritance abating, he even smiled a bit to her chagrin. 

"Hate is a rather strong word. More like _greatly_ dislike. I will go where we're needed, regardless of how fond I am of the planet," Calla snipped. "There's a reason these planets are Outer Rim, aside from their remote location."

There were few very pleasantly hospitable planets in the Outer Rim. Those that were seemed to be few and far inbetween. Otherwise, there was always some sort of extreme geography that the residents had to deal with. Lush, green planets were highly desirable for populating and Sorgan had issues of its own. Having been there not too long ago, before leaving Dune to her solace. Vaguely, he thought of Omera and her son, and how he had contemplated staying there with Grogu. If the Empire had not found them, perhaps he would have never met Calla and gotten answers to the strange questions he had. Visiting them would just put a target on their backs for a second time.

Bringing them into the atmosphere, he directed the Razor Crest toward the common house he had last seen Cara Dune at. Engaging the landing gear, he was pleased to find the ship didn't howl back at him. The craft touched down and Calla put the child into the pram. Shouldering the strap of her rifle, she spun the weapon onto her back and beneath her cloak. Din wasn't expecting any trouble, but he was always prepared. 

Sorgon was amongst the more pleasant planets, Calla had not been wrong about that. The mild temperature, sun, and breathable atmosphere made for comfortable travel out of the ship. Pausing, she waited with the pram to see which direction he wanted to go in. Din signaled her to follow, the pair of Mandalorians drawing eyes as they headed toward the common house. The noise within was discernible outside, cheering and shouting ensuing. 

Entering, Dune was committed to a fist fight with a large, brutish male Zabrak. While he might have been big, as those of his species were, Dune was still quite impressive beside him. Tethered by a laser belt, patrons shouted for the Zabrak to win, having bet on him. 

"Which one is your friend?" Calla asked, leaning up against the bar beside him. 

"The human," Din replied as Dune took a hard hit from the Zabrak. 

Cara recovered, just in time to be dragged in by the laser tether. Rather than being tugged to her defeat, she lumbered forward, shoving the Zabrak back against the bar, grabbing the tether before she jumped on his back, wrapping it around his throat to begin choking the air out of him. The Zabrak struggled, unable to get his meaty fingers on the other side of the tether, falling down to his knees before he tapped out, the line disappearing.

Cara beamed, turning toward the crowd as she swaggered toward them. "Pay up!" A motley crew of patrons sauntered up, grumbling beneath their breaths as they paid Cara for winning against the Zabrak. Counting the currency, she turned, having noticed the glint of Din's armor. "Mando, to what do I owe the honor?" before sliding over to Calla. "New friend?"

Din nodded, moving toward Cara as they found a table to sit at. Her chest still heaved with effort, adrenaline coursing through her as she called for an attendant to get her a drink. "So, you're not here for a drink, I presume," Cara acknowledged, again looking toward Calla. 

"Briila Kryze-Calla," she greeted.

"A name!" Cara cocked an amused expression in his direction. "I thought I was going to have to call you Manda. Cara Dune."

"Republic?" Calla deduced from the tattoo and stripes.

"Rebels," Cara corrected. "Haven't been a soldier for a long time. How'd you find another Mandalorian?"

"I didn't," Din answered. "Calla found me stranded on Maldo Kreis. Helped repair my ship and agreed to help me find a home for the child."

Dune gave a slow nod. "Like I said, you're not here for a drink."

Din nodded grimly. "I need your help," he launched into an explanation of the hologram he had received from Greef. Dune's countenance was hard to read, but she crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. 

"Look, I'd help you if I could, but I've got a bounty on my head. Walking into a den of bounty hunters isn't exactly the best place for me to be," Cara pointed out. 

"It's the Empire," Calla informed her, leaning in to prop her elbows on the table. "You know that Grogu is special. We don't want to be underprepared. We expect we're walking into a trap."

"Grogu?" Cara's brow furrowed.

"The kid," Din said. "Calla was able to find out his name, but... we can talk more about that back on the Crest."

Dune let out a low sigh, rolling her shoulders back, closing her eyes as she contemplated it. However, when she opened them back up, she grinned. "I'm in. Mando, your new friend seems to know my tune."

"I think there's little love lost between most and the Empire, especially someone who fought for the Rebels," Calla retorted.

The group returned to the Razor Crest, Cara shouldering her pack and dumping it near Calla's cot. Surprisingly, the two hit it off right away. Maybe because they had similar demeanors and senses of humor that the women felt comfortable alongside of each other. Back in the cockpit, he began steering off of Sorgan before inputting Arvala-7, eventually going back below deck to where the females were sitting.

Din was perturbed to see that Calla was talking to Dune with her helm off, but didn't voice his disdain. Rather, Calla was explaining that she came from a different sect of Mandalorians who removed their helms. Grogu was let out of the pram and was toddling around, playing with R8-T1, which was wagging its soldering arm in front of him.

"I didn't really intend to, but I'd shot the pilot through the wall. R8 won't let me live it down, thinks it could have warned me ahead of time before they put a flag on my chain codes," Calla was concluding a story, glancing over at her droid, which paused to give a disdainful beep. 

"Damn, that's unfortunate. Sounds like the pilot had it coming, but that's one hell of a way to get yourself a bounty," Dune chuckled, her eyes sliding over to him. "So how did you figure out the kid's name?"

"Calla did," Din said simply, glancing in her direction.

"The Force," the red head filled in. "He was trained in a Jedi temple, the one on Coruscant... at least, before the fall of the Old Republic. Having survived Order 66, he hid until being discovered by the Empire. After that, the poor kid was used for experiments. He wouldn't tell me much about it, I could sense a lot of fear and repression."

Cara was quiet for a moment, listing her eyes toward Grogu, and then back toward Calla. "Jedi? The Force? I've heard of them, but... how do you know so much?"

"I knew an exiled Jedi Master, he trained me for a bit, to hone my own abilities with the Force. It's through our connection to the Force, that I was able to speak to him. Theoretically, he should be talking, but he's been so traumatized..." Calla glanced to Grogu, her eyes softening. 

"Can't you just bring him to that master then?" Dune proposed.

Din pursed his lips, having assumed the answer when Calla had told him about the old master. However, when Cara pointed it out, Calla stiffened, betraying more of herself with her helm off. "He's dead," she said coldly, regaining control of herself, gripping her helmet tightly. "And human. Grogu ages slowly, too slowly for any of us to raise him to adulthood."

"Ah," Cara drawled awkwardly.

"Dune, do you mind helping me in the cockpit for a moment?" Din entreated, the atmosphere shifting from pleasant to frigid in just a few short seconds.

Cara pushed herself to her feet and nodded. They skirted up into the cockpit, engaging the door before he sat in the pilot's seat. "She's hiding something," the ex-Shocktrooper announced. "I know a little about the Force and Jedi don't just train random Mandalorians. They were all killed, the few who survived hiding in the darkest parts of the galaxy. If she found one, she's not giving us the entire story."

"She can communicate with the kid, I've seen it," Din sighed, fiddling with the ball the child liked to play with. His own thoughts had been swarming around the mysterious nature of the woman's history. He'd never met a Mandalorian who could use this 'Force'. "He's also taken with her, maybe because of their connection with the Force. I don't know enough to even know where to begin."

"Do you trust her?" Cara pressed.

So far, Calla had plenty of times to betray him - to kill him even. "Yes, she's sworn an oath to deliver the foundling to a proper master. Even if I don't know enough about her, I trust in the fact that she's Mandalorian."

"Part of me doubts that too, at least completely," Cara admitted honestly. "But if you trust her, then I'll put my doubts aside."

"Thank you..." after a bit of silence, "It seemed like the two of you were getting along."

"Oh, she's a smooth talker. I definitely think I'd get on with her, but I'm suspicious."

"Calla can handle her own."

"I doubt that beskar is just for show, but it's her knowledge in the Force."

Din let Cara's words hang heavy on his shoulders. It was not his place to question another Mandalorian's background. Yet, he was just as curious as the rebel. How was she so honed in the Force - for just having been 'trained' by a Jedi Master - was suspicious. From how the kid handled it, this seemed like a talent that would take years to perfect. While it was hard to judge, he'd place Calla - at most a decade younger than him - but her voice and mannerisms bespoke a person not many years his junior. She sounded tired, almost as if she'd seen too many things over the lightyears. He knew that feeling too well.

The moisture farm spanned beneath them, the crisp image of yet another dry and hazardous planet. Given that both women were established fighters, he knew that Calla wouldn't be keen on sitting back with Grogu. Thus, he'd decided that meeting up with the Ugnaught, Kuiil, was his best bet for keeping an eye on the kid. R8 booped as it wheeled off the ship, inspecting the planet, and making a remark to Calla who gave a snort. 

"Not too bad," she told the droid.

Kuiil had been out in the paddock, approaching the fence as he spotted the shine of the beskar in the dim light of sunset. Coming through the gate, he spotted the child, his heavy snow white brows pulling together.

"It hasn't aged much," he said thoughtfully. "But I don't believe it's genetically engineered. It looks too evolved... That one over there looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora-" he gestured over to Dune, who scowled at the remark.

"These are my companions," Din entreated, gesturing to each respectively. "This is Carasynthia Dune, she was a Rebel Shock-Trooper. And this is Briila Kryze-Calla, a Mandalorian."

Kuiil didn't seem too interested in the other Mandalorian, fixating his large eyes on Cara. "I too fought in the war, but on the other side, as an indentured worker. I have since paid off my debt."

Cara's nostrils flared, dismayed by Kuiil's affiliations. 

"This way. I have spoken," Kuiil turned around before she could make a comment, leading them away from the paddock that held blurggs. Taking a seat at his homely table, Cara drew a sharp breath. 

"We're working with someone who was with the Empire?" she threw a glare at Din, keenly aware that this was no secret to him. 

"I worked off my debt," Kuiil insisted sternly. 

"Doesn't matter. Your work killed innocent people-"

"The Ugnaught speaks truly. He is not proud of what he did," Calla deduced, her voice returning once again to that cool, mystifying tone. 

Kuiil stared at her, considering the masked woman, before leveling his gaze back at Cara. 

Before the argument could erupt again, the creaking of a droid's joints garnered their attention. Din's fingers snapped to his belt, reaching for the blaster in its holster. In the doorway, holding a tray full of drinks, was the IG unit that had attempted to murder the child. 

"Would anyone like some tea?" the hunter asked, Din drawing his weapon now.

"Wait! Lower your blasters," only Calla had not retrieved her weapon. 

"That _thing_ tried to kill the kid. It's programmed to kill him," Din argued tersely.

"It's been reprogrammed," Calla noticed, clearly intrigued by the work as she stood up, walking around the droid. "Did you do this?" she glanced back to Kuiil.

Kuiil calmed down, nodding his head, before launching into the details of how he had claimed the parts in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. He had stripped it down, rebuilt it, removed all knowledge it had of its prior self, which wasn’t difficult seeing there was little of the original neural harness. The droid had to learn how to walk again, to do even the simplest of tasks like pouring a cup of tea without spilling.

“I wish to hire your services,” Din eventually entreated, in spite of the IG unit being disturbingly close to all of them. 

“I am no longer for sale. I worked a long time to be free of servitude to another,” Kuiil replied coolly. 

“Not to fight, but to watch the child. We will probably be too busy to devote the appropriate amount of attention to him,” Din further elaborated.

“I can reprogram IG-11 as a nanny and send it with you,” Kuiil offered obstinately. 

“I don’t want that thing anywhere near the kid,” Din gritted out between his teeth, still not comprehending why Kuiil didn’t understand his dislike of droids. 

“Originally, IG-11 was programmed to do that. It is not any longer. Droids are neither good or bad, they are neutral reflections of those that imprint upon them,” he glanced over to R8-T1. “That astromech for example, it’s very curious, and vocal. This is not a trait that all astromechs share, but it is because its master imprinted on it.”

“Guilty as charged. R8 has become a pal in the face of many cold, long light years,” Calla agreed, patting the mech on its top.

He didn’t like R8 either, but there was a large difference between an astromech and a hunter unit. 

“I will go, but only if IG-11 comes with me,” Kuiil offered the ultimatum, making Din wonder if he was going to have to ask Calla to watch the kid. “You will need to trust in me and my work. I will come. There is no need to pay me, as I wish to protect the child from Imperial Slavery. I want to make certain the old ways are gone from the galaxy forever.”

There was a lot riding on this and he needed the hands of an experienced warrior beside him. But the way that Kuiil was staring at him, offering to go on his own honor, to protect the child from the Empire he had once served... Eventually, he relented, glaring in the direction of the hunter unit. “Fine, but the IG droid is to keep away from the kid,” he ordered.

“And the blurggs come too.”

“What?”

“I have spoken.”

* * *

Briila's Faceclaim is Alina Kovalenka - I really love the almost smug look she always has and she looks about the right age. The only difference would be the hue of her eyes, which are described as being the same as Satine’s.

Here are a few images that helped inspire - [One](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/59/e7/4d/59e74dcc4eb3ba57dffd4ae45efe22e7.jpg) | [Two](https://external-preview.redd.it/-ruxLZxC13I7aBX2fdSTdYt11JSiKG5VvNDGCqTfvoA.jpg?auto=webp&s=afda83093404b3e57a8474d0bd40487a8c6b5088) | [Three](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/da/9a/92/da9a9293facdbe9b39a5c415f42fd73c.jpg) | [Four](https://64.media.tumblr.com/372b629e912ee61f69de4333daf32366/a894388b71fd2c57-91/s400x600/568004ef5376bb9449752fc39d80991a17ebbc75.png)


	4. Retaking Nevarro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorians work to retake Nevarro from the Empire.

Blurggs were weird, but she had seen weirder creatures before. They were penned up at the base of the cargo deck, disconcertingly close to where she was supposed to be sleeping. Not that she'd be getting much sleep right now anyways. With the ship set on course for Nevarro, she settled into a quasi-state of sleep and meditation, plying at the Force for answers. Her own talent with the Force had never gone away, she used it for everyday things, but those things she didn't use it for - lightsaber fighting and moving objects - they had suffered considerably. Didn't matter, it was unlikely she'd ever touch her saber again, despite the sensation of it missing. It had been  _ years _ .

Yet she knew right where Kenobi would have put it.

Kuiil was working on the bench, constructing a better pram for Grogu. Propped up on her cot, she could hear the quiet grunting between Mando and Cara has they had an arm wrestle. To be honest, she didn't want to have an arm fight with the retired shocktrooper, her biceps and triceps were enormous. She seemed to put even Mando to shame with her muscular prowess. 

Then there was a choking noise.

Opening her eyes, she looked to the child, the swirling darkness around her intoxicating. "No!" she shouted, her own hand flying up, watching as Cara struggled for breath against the Force crushing her windpipes. "Do  _ not _ !" Her voice quavered with power, the child recognizing the coercion, dropping his hand to ogle her. 

Cara gasped, clutching her throat where invisible hands had tightened. The child blubbered slightly, before tears leaked out of his luminous eyes. "She's a friend! You don't do that!" Mando was reprimanding him, but she knew the kid didn't understand it like that.

Untangling herself from her blankets, Briila strode to the opposite side of the hull and bent in front of him. "He does not comprehend in the same manner," she told him gruffly, removing her helm to look at him in the eyes. The fear was palpable, causing her to shudder. "He feared for your life." This was dangerous territory, the child had already formed a strong bond with Mando. He was too little to know how to control these emotions, to be able to put a wedge between mentor and father, as Briila had once done with Kenobi.

_ That is not true. You thought of him as a father, _ a voice reminded her.  _ But I never strayed from the Light, _ she argued.

"The child is curious," Kuiil had turned around to watch the exchange. "As is this Mandalorian."

"Curious? He tried to choke me!" Cara snarled, still gripping her aching throat. 

"Fear," Briila said slowly. "Is the path to the Dark Side. The very reason why Jedi in the Old Republic were prohibited from having families. Love makes you weak - at least, in their eyes, it makes you susceptible to fear."

"You know of these ways," Kuiil remarked, impressed. "I think I understand now why you could not explain your encounter with the mudhorn," he had turned to Mando now. 

Cara broke in again, "How is it that you are walking free of Imperial indentured servitude?"

"I bought my freedom with my hands and more years than any of you have. Three of your human lifetimes," he retorted with sharp insistence, wafting off of him in a strong wave as he pinned a glare to Cara. "You know of the Jedi," turning his back to her, he was gazing intently at Briila.

"I knew one of them. A Master Jedi who survived Order 66," she nodded, reiterating, as she had twice now. 

"Then you know of their magic. It seems that you are aware of it yourself," Kuiil observed, few things getting by the perceptive eyes of the Ugnaught. 

"In a manner of speaking," she acknowledged. "Enough to communicate with him." How much did he know? Three human lifetimes meant that he had to have known the Old Republic, of when the Jedi Order flourished, and then its fall into the Empire's clutches. There were many years in his eyes, more than Dune or Mando could ever hope to see. Though, at least Mando treated this elder with the respect he deserved.

Kuiil paused, holding her gaze, before going back to his work. 

_ He knows. _

"Can you train him to not do things like this?" Mando entreated her wearily, desperately unaware of how to handle this space magic.

Still holding Grogu, she glanced back down to him. He was pulling at her braid, observing the bright hue of it. If she committed to being this child's teacher, then he would be her charge. Having agreed to help him, she had not believed it would lead to this. "I can try," she muttered finally, gazing into the child's eyes as he stared at her with those adoring, beautifully brown irises. "Come, Grogu. Let us meditate."

Bringing Grogu away from where Mando and Cara were, she placed him down and folded her legs. "You know of these ways. Clear your mind. Think not of the emotions that hinder you. Be it fear or anger, cleanse your palate so you think of space - empty, but for the stars and planets the dot it. Cool and collected -" she spoke calmly to him, watching as the child closed his eyes and let out a low breath. "Leave behind your physical body and reach up. Find your center."

Drawing in a deep breath of her own, she closed her eyes and reached out to Grogu, entreating him to join her in the space beyond their bodies. Here, there was center. Here, there were no emotions to weigh them down. If there were, they could toss them to the infinite space and leave them amongst the asteroids, dust, and stars. Familiarity blanketed the boy and he reached out, touching her soul, resonating as beskar would sing. 

_ This is the way. Let the Light Side of the Force guide you. _

* * *

"He's always been able to do things like this?" Cara breathed, still disconcerted by the kid's knack for doing things with his mind.

While it had been bad, Calla's cryptic words had confused him. The Dark Side? Fear? There was a sternness in her that he did not understand and to top it off, Kuiil knew more than he was letting on as well. They sat in the corner now, the Mandalorian whispering quietly to the kid, lulling him into some sort of meditation before closing her own eyes. These were not mannerisms or teachings of any Mandalorians. Of this, he was certain.

"Yes, he has been able to move things with his mind," Din confirmed, still watching the pair. 

"And choke?"

"No, this is the first time I've seen him use it like that," he admitted, disconcerted by the implications. Calla had sprung up from her nap, grabbing the child and stopping him from doing it. While disturbing to watch, he wondered what it felt like to sense such a disturbance in this 'Force'.

"Good luck with that," Cara snorted, getting up to go to the head. 

Din suppressed a sigh and gazed back toward them again. Standing up, he approached where they had positioned near the ladder going into the cockpit. Both were utterly relaxed, all the tension on the kid's face gone, a blissful calm consuming him. Calla sat with her palms open, breathing deeply, reflecting the youth before her. 

"Liser gar susulur ni?" (Can you hear me?) he spoke low, in Mando'a. What if that armor had been stolen and he had been tricked into believing that she was Mandalorian?

"Elek."(Yes.)

Opening her eyes, she turned her brilliant turquoise irises to root him to the spot. They bespoke power he couldn't fathom. The question he had died on the back of his throat.

"Cuyir ogir mayen gar linibar ni par?" (Is there anything you need me for?) She posed the question, her diction clear and refined. She was Mandalorian.

"Nayc, Ni was shi haa'taylir at haa'taylir pehea te adiik cuyir." (No, I was just looking to see how the child was.)

"Tion'jor o'r mando'a?" (Why in Mando'a?)

It had been a test to put his mind to rest. Only Mandalorians would know the language, though he felt guilty about not putting it to good use. Typically, Mando'a was for emergencies, the need to only speak to a fellow without fear of a stranger understanding.

"Kaysh cuyir jate par jii." (He is fine for now.)

Din climbed up the ladder and found himself back in the pilot's seat. Had she realized that he was testing her? It was true, ever since Cara had pointed out that she might not be fully Mandalorian, he had been suspicious as well.  _ And this is what you get for doubting a fellow, _ he chastised. Too many questions were being left unanswered and they were questions that were dire. Still, it was not his place to question. Muttering, he placed his helm in his hands, nearly between his legs as he considered his options. Nevarro was looming on the horizon. Maybe after he dropped Cara back off, they could have a conversation. 

_ And that would mean I'd have to share equally,  _ he thought darkly. The kid had moved up from stopping things with his mind to choking the life out of someone. Who knew what might happen if Calla weren't here to rein Grogu in now. He was utterly hopeless in this strange space wizard magic. Few people even knew about it, let alone how to wield it.

He settled into his seat, following after the countdown through hyperspace. While he was not looking forward to what was waiting for them on Nevarro, he was also anxious about keeping this crew together on the ship. Kuiil  _ knew  _ things, yet did not impart this wisdom. And now Cara was leery of the kid, whom this whole mission was staked on. 

"Beeeeeeoooop," R8 appeared up the ladder, inspecting him carefully. 

"What are you doing?" Din hissed, watching as the droid listed forward toward the controls. "Get out of here."

"Beeoop," this one sounded slightly indignant.

"Go back down below."

"WeeeEEooow."

Din rounded on the astromech, not in the mood for its attitude. However, when he did, he found that it was holding an item out in its wire claw. Brows furrowing, he accepted the item from the droid, which appeared to be hologram chip. Rather than waiting, the droid turned around and went back down the ladder, leaving him alone in the cockpit. Had Calla sent the droid to give this to him?

_ No, she's aware I do not like droids,  _ he thought, thumbing the disk, before turning it over in his palm. "Well, let's see-" he slid it into his controls, uploading the transmission. An image sputtered up - a very old image - of an elderly man in modest robes. There was static, this appeared to be a battered hologram. 

"You cannot come for the child. She is, by rights, a padawan.  _ My  _ padawan. When you left her here on Tatooine, you forfeited the rights to reclaiming her," the man said sternly, the same mysterious tone in his voice - the same that Calla used. "If you do come, the child will decide her own fate. If you are looking for the next Mand'alor, you shall not find it here."

The recording ended and Din sat there, considering this. Mand'alor? He knew that there were some who might be trying to reclaim the planet that had succumbed to the Empire. It was toxic, uninhabitable save for the domes erected around cities. A Mand'alor was the appointed leader of the civilization. Could this be the Jedi Master that Calla had referred to?

_ No, that can't be. She made it seem as if she was only there for a few years, he's referring to a child.  _ But another Mandalorian child? How many had gone to these wizards?

* * *

The Razor Crest touched down on yet another unpleasant planet. Standing on the pads of molten rock, cracks and crevasses were filled with molten, a slick sulfuric scent wafting over the mounds. As far as the eye could see, there were no plants or vegetation, only dark hills and mountains. R8, reading her mind like a Jedi, booped distinctly, noticing her disdain even beneath her helm. 

"Yeah, yeah, it's not  _ too  _ bad," she informed it.

Waiting for them, just outside the landing area of the ship, were a quad of bounty hunters. A human, Nikto, and Trandoshan standing behind a dark skinned human, which she remembered - from the hologram - was called Greef. His eyes slid between them, Briila sensing his discomfort of not just Mando being in attendance. Particularly, his eyes set to her, then Cara - finding her stripes. 

"Sorry we had to meet so far out for the rendezvous, but seeing as the town is run by Imperials..." he drawled, looking between them. "I see you've brought friends, Mando."

"Yes, I have."

"Another Mandalorian and a rebel soldier. Seems you know how to pick your women," Greef jested. "Perhaps the trooper should stay behind to guard the ships from Jawas. Or your Mandalorian friend."

"They both come," Mando inserted sternly. 

Briila glanced toward him, impressed by his prowess. The opposing group was nervous, he had a reputation.

"I only say this as not to attract too much attention," Greef simpered. "At the very least, the soldier needs to cover her stripes."

Cara grimaced, but knew that walking amongst the Imperials with it showing would not be wise. Neither would walking with the tattoo beneath her eye, but unless the stormtroopers got intimately close, there was no reason they'd notice it.

The pram listed forward.

"Is the child in there?" Greef asked.

Reluctant, Mando opened the pram to show Grogu. The child crooned, not hinting in the slightest at the darkness he had displayed just a couple of days ago. Briila had worked hard, while still obscuring her more suspicious abilities. Meditating with him for long hours, she hoped she pressed upon Grogu the importance of drawing himself back within to recover and still his emotions. The only oddity was that Mando had interrupted them to speak to her in Mando'a. 

_ He doesn't believe I'm Mandalorian.  _ Not that she blamed him. There was no doubt the knowledge she possessed was beyond that of what any normal Mandalorian should or would know. Ironically, as much as she postured, Briila barely believed herself Mandalorian at this point. She felt like a hypocrite, lecturing Grogu on staying on the Light Side and yet struggling to know herself. Such imbalance in a person made them more susceptible to succumbing to the Dark and losing reign on their powers. The longer she stayed beside Mando, she realized she was losing control. Each meditation, each time she looked at the child, the more she was coming to accept that Grogu might become her padawan.

_ And yet I stand here in beskar with no lightsaber. _

"Oh, I see why everyone wants you," Greef now had a hold on Grogu, running a gloved finger along a long ear. "You're so cute!"

Once the child was back in the pram, they set off across the lava fields on the back of the blurrgs that Kuiil had provided. Night approached quickly, but during this time, Calla was able to assess the situation. Reaching out with the Force, like little tendrils, she tethered them to those they followed. Malice, wary, intent. Just as they had originally predicted, they would be betrayed.

A fire roasted in front of them, a dark evening trapping them in its harrowing embrace. Sitting between Mando and Cara, she wondered when they were going to do it - to try and kill them. Perhaps in the cover of darkness would be best, when it was difficult to pinpoint one another.

"Val cuyir at kebbur kyr'amur mhi," (They are going to try and kill us) she informed Mando quietly, playing with a vibro-knife, trying to appear nonchalant as she spoke casually.

"Ni kar'taylir," (I know) he replied. "Vi linibar val alor." (We need their leader.)

She stifled a sigh, pretending to yawn instead. It was true, they needed Greef to vet them before they could get a chance to kill whatever Imperial scum was heading this operation. "Nakar'tuur." (Tomorrow.)

Mando nodded. "The plan," he turned his helm toward Greef who was eating a haunch from the beast they had caught earlier. 

"The Client only had four guards. The plan is to enter the common house, show the bait, and then kill him. You'll need to play the part of a prisoner - the rebel soldier can bring you in but..." his eyes slid over to Briila. "Two Mandalorians..."

"Cuff me too. From what I understand, there is nowhere for me to hide and wait in case the plan goes awry. My appearance might also explain why extracting Mando took longer than anticipating," she proposed.

"Very well. That should suffice. Nothing should go wrong, this should be an easy exchange and everyone gets what they want-" Greef agreed, lifting an arm just as Briila had a sickening feeling.

"Get down!" she yelled, knocking both Cara and Mando to the ground as an enormous reptavian creature swept out of the darkness and mauled Greef's outstretched arm, swooping dangerously close to where they had once been sitting. The man screamed, falling down to the ground as blaster shots began going off into the abyss.

Mando sealed the pram with the child, unholstering a blaster.

Engaging her thermal vision, she swung her rifle around her back and planted it firmly against her shoulder. Cara was already firing off into the shadows aimlessly. Only she and Mando had the ability to have any inkling on what was going on. Turning the safety lever to the final setting, she let the rifle engage in its charging mode. 

Mando began firing beside her - the Trandoshan bounty hunter being swept away from their camp, his screams echoing away into the fields before guttering out completely. Whirling her head while the creature charged, the Force quavered, the next going for one of Kuiil's blurggs.

"No!" he screamed, firing at the beast in vain as it carried away one of his precious livestock. "Let her go!"

Another dove in, trying to take another blurgg, talons digging into the tough skin of the creature. The blurgg cried just as her weapon clicked. Turning her rifle up, Briila released the cannon fire, the blue rings booming toward the avian. Consumed by the electric pulse, the beast screamed before falling limp, releasing the blurgg. However, the animal was badly mauled, succumbing to the poisonous talons that had raked along its back. 

Fire blossomed around them, Briila ducking out of the way as Mando spurted a flamethrower, chasing away the last of the flying monsters. They stood there, trying to register the amount of carnage from the native animals, only turning to see Greef whimpering in pain on the ground.

"Shit," she muttered, swinging her weapon out of the way to follow as Cara took point.

Greef's arm was badly torn where the talons had rendered his flesh nearly from the bone. But the effect of the poison had worked to keep him from bleeding out immediately, not that it mattered, the poison was getting into his system swiftly. Cara pulled out her medpac, applying it, before assessing again in desperation.

"The end is near," he gasped, face becoming ashen. "So this is how I go."

"Don't be so dramatic," Cara dismissed, scanning his arm again, but her confidence quavered. "Poison is still spreading. Does anyone else have a medpac?"

No one answered.

_ We need him, I should help, _ but she wasn't confident in her healing abilities anymore. She had left that path when she returned to the Kryze Clan. Would she be able to heal him and walk away after? Drawing out the poison would require more energy than most flesh wounds.

But it was Grogu who acted first, having escaped his pram, toddling over to inspect the damage. Cara reached to remove him, a child shouldn't see this.

"No, let him," Briila entreated.

Grogu reached forward with his tridactyl claws, planting it against Greef's wound. Focusing the Force into his palm, the Light Side, he used it to slowly mend the wound, drawing out the poison before closing the gashes. He swayed, plopping down on his rear, glancing luridly in her direction. Briila was grinning beneath her mask while the others were astonished by what the child had done. 

_ Good. You did very good, _ she told him, pressing her thoughts against his with the Force.

Grogu croaked, reaching for her. Bending forward, she picked up the weak child, aware that the feat he had accomplished, even she had been nervous about. Yet, someone so little had done it. He reached up, placing his hands gently against her mask, trying to push his thoughts on hers. She caught snippets - believe, come back, the Light. His words pained her, his acknowledgement of her help in tethering him back to the right path. She had walked away. How could she return? 

_ For him. Decide for him. _

"Sleep youngling, everything is right now," she whispered, running her gloved fingers over his eyes.

* * *

They were walking over the last stretch of lava fields before they'd crest the rise to the town where the common house was. Calla had warned him the evening before, be it her wizard magic, but she knew they intended to kill them and steal the child. Even Cara had inclined as much. The night had been stressful, aside from the attack by the reptavians. They had quietly taken shifts in watching the other bounty hunters, swapping their duties every couple of hours. Now, with the sun rising over their heads, Din knew that the final stand between them was about to occur before they reached town.

Pushed to the forefront, he was relying on not only his own instincts, but that of the mysterious Mandalorian beside him. Her violet and teal helm tilted slightly, as if she could hear the future in the wind. Now, he was certain that she knew of scrying, given how she had forced him and Cara down before a monster had swooped down upon them. It might not have killed him, but it would have maimed Dune. With each action, he was beginning to put more faith in Calla.

There was a slight nod, Calla reaching for a vibro-blade tucked in her glove. Din slipped down to his blaster, rounding on the group behind them. Blaster fire went off, but it wasn't theirs. Greef stood, his countenance heavy as he wielded dual hand blasters, having shot his associates dead. 

"Interesting," Calla hummed, settling back on her hackles as she flipped the dagger between her fingers. 

"Meg vaabir gar haa'taylir?" (What do you sense?) he asked her.

"Let me try something," she requested. Taking a step toward Greef, he observed her silently. Blade tucked back away, she took a pair of fingers and motioned her hand while speaking. "Why did you do that?"

"I couldn't go through with it," Greef admitted with gushing honestly, brows drawn together. "Our original plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after he healed me..." his eyes became glossy for a moment before he shook himself back. "Please, don't kill me. If you kill me, the child will never be safe. The Client is obsessed with the kid..."

Din was unconvinced, maybe Greef was throwing in his lot at the moment, but who was to say that he wouldn't switch on the flip of a credit once again? Astonishingly, he found himself glancing back toward Calla. He couldn't explain why he trusted her opinion more than his own instincts. Maybe it was because of the uncanny method in which she had proven she could read people with her magic. 

Calla nodded slowly.

Only Cara was at a loss, staring open mouthed at Din. She drew him aside. "You're going to trust that scum? He'll do anything not to get blasted, he knew we were onto them," Dune hissed.

"No, it's more than that," Din realized, trusting in the word of his fellow Mandalorian. "This is the way."

Cara frowned, but it only took a moment for her countenance shift, a grin retaking her. "Look, I'm up for any excuse to bash Imperial heads together, but you're relying heavily on Calla's opinion."

"She hasn't led me astray yet," Din admitted thinly, perhaps even grudgingly. 

"Keep talking like that and I'll expect some little Mandos running around soon," Cara chuckled, releasing him from her grip. "Let's do it."

He didn't think of Calla that way or - rather - he had been forcing himself not to. Cara had seen beneath the mask to know that the female Mandalorian was attractive. On top of being good with the kid, she made for a priceless ally. How many others could he find that had weird space magic? Their arrangement was bound by the oath she had sworn, but what about after? He didn't know enough about her to even begin guessing.

Rejoining the others, Greef glanced over from Calla expectantly - no, with hope. "We share a mutual interest. I want these damned Imperials out of my town and off my planet. The guild can't do anything with them around. Again, we can use the same plan as last time with the child as bait."

"We shouldn't actually bring the child," Calla pointed out, glancing at the pram. 

"I agree, the pram will be a decoy. Kuiil, take him back to the Razor Crest and engage ground security protocols once you get inside. They'll have to blast a hole through the planet to get through the reinforcements," Din instructed, opening the carriage, lifting the cooing child out. He was reluctant to let the kid out of his sight, but relinquished him after a long moment. Bringing him would do nothing but endanger him. 

"I swear the child will be safe," the Ugnaught promised, turning to look at Cara. "Cover your stripes, rebel."

Nodding, Cara began tying a strip of cloth around her arm as Greef produced a pair of cuffs for the Mandalorians to wear. Once he was certain that Kuiil had made a good amount of distance, he closed the pram and accepted the cuffs. Calla twirled it on her finger, whistling as Cara disarmed her. 

"Ah, leave the knife," she protested, tucking it back into her glove. 

Finally, after the both of them had been rendered, they slid the cuffs on disdainfully and followed after Greef who brought them toward the entrance of the town. Immediately, the situation which Greef had explained was more severe than intended. Milling around like a bunch of white ants, Stormtroopers seemed to make up the entire population. They were stopped by scout troopers at the gates, their 74-Z speeder bikes sitting beside them.

"Chain code?" they demanded.

"I work here," Greef protested, trying to smooth them over. "Haven't you seen me before?"

The troopers didn't appear convinced. "Chain code?"

"I'm delivering these two Mandalorians to the boss..." but they did not relent. "Fine, here," he lifted his forearm and opened his codes. 

"He's good," one of the scouts confirmed, allowing them to pass.

Din pursed his lips as they entered, observing that there were quite a bit more than four stormtroopers. In fact, the town thrummed like a hive. Being disarmed, he felt exposed, the situation becoming increasingly dire as they continued. Calla brushed shoulders with him, glancing up as if to say what he thought. This wasn't good.

Greef paused in front of the familiar cantina where Din had once been taking bounties. Pressing the code in, he glanced back at the pair of bound Mandalorians. "Imperial conduct increased after the fiasco you pulled," he muttered, finishing the combination, opening the door. 

Inside the dimly lit cantina were the four bodyguards that Greef had originally accounted for. The assumption had been that the town was still in some quasi-normal situation, not a new base of operation. Swaggering from around a corner was a frail, pasty old man in silky black robes. His eyes brightened at the sight of the pram, making Din's stomach twist in disgust. 

"I've brought you the Mandalorian, the child, and his partner," Greef proclaimed. "With the assistance of this hunter-" he gestured to Cara.

The elderly man glanced between them, motioning for a trooper to go forward. They approached Calla, separating her from the rest of the group. "It's been a long time since I've seen beskar like this... What's beneath this garish color anyways. Kryze Clan, isn't it? I wonder who is beneath that mask..."

A trooper grasped Calla's helm and ripped it off, revealing her fiery red hair, tendrils plastered to her face from sweat. Her bright eyes slid over to the Client, haughty and full of hatred. Would he be next?

"Not who I was expecting, but you have your mother's look - the hair anyways," the Client mused. 

They knew her or of her name. Din stared, uncertain what to make of this. If not for the situation they were in, he might have felt a bit guilty for questioning her claim as a Mandalorian. The Empire knew of her family.

"Can I have the helmet?" a stormtrooper asked.

"That's mine-" Cara snapped. "My bounty, I was promised the beskar."

"Not like it'll fit you," the stormtrooper grumbled, looking down at the helmet.

The Client turned to the bar, enjoying this moment of victory, requesting a drink from the protocol droid at the bar for both he and the hunters that had sealed the deal. "It's a shame it's come to this. Mandalorians are truly such prized warriors and the beskar... so beautiful when properly forged," he admitted. "If only Mandalore had not resisted the graceful touch of the Empire. Everywhere the Empire touches it brings safety, prosperity, trade and peace. It's certainly favorable to the deplorable state that the galaxy currently is in - raining only chaos and death."

Greef had unlocked his cuffs during the exchange, passing a blaster underneath the table. Calla was separated from them, unable to have her own cuffs unlocked due to where she stood. Din inclined his helm, her brilliant turquoise eyes locked with his. She knew what was coming. He needed only to disengage the troopers that had a hold on her. 

The old man turned toward the bar as a holoprojector was set up, giving them a diversion. "Where is the child?" he asked as an image began to quiver on the device. Another person appeared, one they had yet to meet, one who looked vastly more important than the Imperial Officer in front of them. Didn't matter - they came here to dispatch this one. 

"In the pram," Greef gestured to the floating carriage.

"Are you certain you have the child?" the officer on the holoprojector inquired.

"Yes, it is sleeping," the elder retorted.

"You're certain? You've seen it?"

Before the old man had the chance to turn, Din dropped his cuffs and fired the blaster - killing him instantly. His body slumped against the bar as all hell broke loose. Calla engaged her jetpack, sending the troopers holding onto her stumbling away before looping her bound hand around the throat of one, tugging him down to her height as she landed on the ground, breaking his neck in one swift jerk.

Mando turned, shooting the accomplice as Greef and Cara disposed of the other two bodyguards. However, this was not the end of their trouble. The noise of battle attracted those outside the common house, signifying that their officer had been killed. Despite believing that the ground would have dispersed by this point, Din glanced back to the fizzing holoprojector, understanding that this was much more than they had originally anticipated.

"Get these damn cuffs off of me!" Calla howled, ducking behind the bar with her helmet in her hands. 

"Give me a minute!" Greef huffed in return, taking her hands and unlinking the cuffs. "Why aren't they leaving?"

"That wasn't their leader," Din answered beside them, turning up to fire out through the window and into the town. 

"It was! I've seen him, spoken with him,  _ that  _ was the Client," Greef argued, panic leaching into his voice.

"Seems he had a boss," Cara grunted, sliding Calla her rifle which had been slung on her back.

"We're going to have to fight our way out," Calla pointed out. "Did Kuiil make it back to the ship?"

Din, in the moment, hadn't thought about this. He picked up his comlink and spoke into it. "Kuiil? Kuiil do you read me? Start the ship and leave, we're pinned. Do you copy? Leave!"

There was only static as Cara and Calla took point, alternating volleys out of the window as a white tidal wave ceased to flow inward. Anxiety was palpable as they fought for their lives, but with each trooper that was killed, two more filled their place. Din, called again, "Kuiil? Kuiil!" his stomach was sinking, regret hitting him full in the face as he glanced back at Calla who had warned him this was not a good idea, but had deferred to his orders. Then there was Cara who had dragged away from safety for one last mission.

Getting up, Din tossed a motion mine, which beeped and engaged, sending several troopers flying, along with limbs, blood, and plastoid. "We have to get out of here," he grumbled, remembering that the sewers led down to the Tribe. Maybe there they could get the Mandalorians to help them to get off this planet a second time. It was their only hope. His helmet scanned, pinning on a vent behind a set of benches.

Leaving the others to cover him, he threw aside the couches and their cushions, revealing a grate. Pulling did no good, not even a few blaster shots. Calla turned to glance at him. "Can your cannon be used to open this?" he asked.

She shook her head. "The cannon will take the entire building down. It's not intended for walls - just anything living or mechanical."

Hissing beneath his mask he turned back, clutching the comlink, understanding now that the child was put into unnecessary danger and they would all perish for it. All that he had been trying to avoid had now come to fruition. 

"Death troopers," Greef whispered, turning ashen as they lowered their weapons and hid.

Din now saw that an Outland TIE fighter had landed, dropping his stomach to his feet.  _ This  _ was the person they needed to kill, not the old puppet that had been showing face on Nevarro. In front of him, soldiers were setting up a turret. One that would rip right through the walls and hit all of them. Even their beskar wouldn't hold up against repeated shots from it. 

"You have something I want," a dark skinned man informed them, his eyes wide and feral as he smiled thinly. "And I don't think you understand what it is."

"Kuiil?" Din tried once again. Maybe, just maybe he'd get a response from on the ship.

"The child will be in my possession in a few short moments... He means more to me that you shall ever know," the E-web heavy repeating blaster was nearly set up. "As you might have realized, I have assembled an E-web heavy repeating blaster, which will decimate this building in a matter of seconds. Perhaps Carasynthia Dune, a survivor of Alderaan and a rebel shock trooper recognizes it as the weapon used to kill many of her comrades. Or maybe Briila Kryze will remember its sound when she was a child when it was used to wipe out many of her clan during the Siege of Mandalore. Or... Din Djarin, you have heard of these days as well and The Night of a Thousand Tears where many Mandalorian recruits were mowed down... But this is not the same weapon. No, this one is newer and better.

"Magistrate Greef Karga, it would be in your best interests to lay down your weapons and convince your allies to do the same. If you do so, I shall overlook this blunder and take the others as prisoners. Otherwise, I shall raze this structure to the ground," the man explained.

Aside from knowing all their names, Din knew what it meant if they turned themselves in. He and Cara would be killed and Calla... Or Kryze... Or Briila - whatever her name was - would be discovered as Force sensitive and subjected to the same experiments as the kid. 

"What are you proposing?" Greef asked weakly, everyone glaring at him simultaneously.

"Reasonable arrangements can be made."

"He'll kill all of us the moment we step outside!" Cara hissed.

"What assurance do you offer?" Greef continued.

"Only that I act in my own self interest, which at this time involves your cooperation," the man answered coolly. "I shall give you until nightfall to make your decision."

Still pinned and without much hope of escape, Greef sagged down the wall and shuddered. 

"He knew all our names," Dune remarked, clutching her weapon in dismay.

"It's Moff Gideon," Din informed her, aware of who the officer was. He was supposed to be dead or in jail. He knew the name because it was Moff Gideon who had dispatched the B2-series battle droids to his planet to decimate it. A man who could kill unarmed civilians had no honor and they waiting like sitting ducks

"We should make one last stand," Greef objected, glancing back out, albeit hopelessly.

"Against an E-Web? We have no chance," Cara sighed.

"Can you hit it with your cannon and destroy it?" Din glanced at Calla.

"Window space is too narrow. I'd have to get outside to have a chance of blowing it to hell," Briila admitted, implying what they were thinking -  _ if _ she could get outside.

"You know, I thought Moff Gideon was executed for his crimes," Cara recalled, fidgeting with the level on her weapon. 

"It is Moff Gideon. He knew my name, which hasn't been spoken since I was a child. He seemed to know a great deal about all of us," he glanced between the members of his team, resting on Briila, who seemed to have a more pivotal position amongst the native Mandalorians than he had originally anticipated. 

"Did you grow up on Mandalore?" Greef inquired.

"No, I was not born on Mandalore," Din admitted, watching at the man's countenance flooded with confusion.

"And what about Briila? Her helm was removed too-"

"I was born on Mandalore," she revealed to him. "However, being Mandalorian is not just a race, but a creed. There are different sects - tribes if you will - that live by different oaths. After the Siege of Mandalore, our people became scattered and few in number. We have always taken in orphans, as they are innocent to the strife the galaxy experiences. Mando, or Djarin, is a foundling. My own tribe is not the same as his, but he is no less Mandalorian than me. We both know, when it comes down to it, that a Mandalorian can trust another inexplicably - even to the death."

Greef registered the explanation, though not completely comprehending how it could be both a race and a creed. 

"The Death Watch saved me," Din acknowledged.

"My mother was once on the Death Watch," Briila told him. "Moff Gideon must know our names because of the records on Mandalore. The Empire seized the registers during the Great Purge."

"He was an Imperial Security Bureau officer during that time, it would make sense that he had access to it," Din agreed. "If he wants us alive, then it means that he does not yet have Grogu."

Briila's fingers tightened on her weapon and she gave a nod. "He's nearby, I can sense it."

"He's  _ nearby _ ?" Din breathed. "Kuiil?" he spoke into the comlink.

"This is IG-11, in possession of the child," but it was not the Ugnaught who responded, a chill swept down his back, a fit of panic making his skin clammy. 

"Where is Kuiil?"

"I cannot sense his life force," Briila revealed abruptly, a sad inflection in her mysterious tone.

"He has been terminated," IG-11 said indifferently. "However, I am fulfilling my base structure - to nurse and protect."

"What does that mean?" Greef asked anxiously.

"The child is approaching swiftly," Briila had a hand to her helm, but it was not the visor she was getting this information from. "Get ready, I think the IG unit is coming  _ here _ ."

Just a few moments later, laser shots were audible, echoing through the cantina's blown window. Briila was the first up, flanked by Cara as they burst outside, covering one another before trying to make a leap for the E-Web. IG-11 spun into view, dispatching stormtroopers and wielding the child on its chest. Din joined the fray, using the coverage of the females to get to the E-Web. Picking the heavy machinery off its stand, he turned it around to begin peeling away the front line. 

Briila engaged her jetpack, flying up before loosing several small projectiles from her glove. The shiny darts pinned themselves to a dozen troopers, consuming them in blue static, bringing them down to their knees as they were fried at a high voltage. 

"There's still too many!" Cara yelled, taking down five more just as another drop ship flew overhead. 

"Get back in the cantina!" Greef shouted, they were out in the open, too exposed, even if they were succeeding in pushing the troopers back, reinforcements were on the way.

Moff Gideon was on the field, Din turning the E-Web toward him. If he could kill the Imperial now then it would all be over... Gideon raised his blaster and shot the ammo box that had been beside the E-web.

Din was sent flying from the explosion, coming down hard in the dirt, ears ringing, unable to see a clear picture. He saw blips in between, the view of teal gloves grasping him, a jetpack hissing, as he was dragged away from the fight. 

"Can you open the grate?" Greef was entreating IG-11.

"Yes, stand back," the droid answered.

"Djarin?... Din!" it was Briila crouching in front of him, his vision swimming as he finally was able to see her. 

"Take the kid. I... I cannot continue. Follow the tunnels until you find the Tribe. They will help you, you're Mandalorian."

"To hell," Briila retorted obstinately, Cara looking on worried. "I'm not leaving you. I swore I would never leave a man behind. I can-"

"You also swore an oath to protect him. That one comes first," Din cut in, reaching up to pull his mythosaur necklace off. He pressed it into her hand. "I should have trusted you from the beginning. I'm sorry... Sorry that we didn't have the chance to get to know one another better."

" _ No _ ! You're not dying on me," Briila snarled, her voice emanating with power. "I will not allow it."

Din smiled weakly, amused by the tenacious side of the Mandalorian he had yet to see. He supposed she must have watched many other Mandalorians die at the hand of the Empire. She was gripping his hand tightly, the grate clanging to the ground behind them. "Go.  _ Go _ !" he insisted.

The door burst open across the cantina, a red-striped incinerator trooper stepping in. Briila didn't turn to look, bowing her head in acknowledgement, refusing to take her hand away from his. Everyone flinched as the flamethrower billowed forward, Briila turning at the last moment to look, but the child stepped forward before she threw her hand out.

What should have consumed them, baking them to a crisp, killing them, pressed upon an invisible forcefield. Grogu twisted his claws, straining against the flames before huffing, throwing the fire back toward the attacker and out the door. The trooper collapsed, meeting the fate they should have, and Grogu plopped on the ground weakly.

"Take the child," Briila ordered Cara. "We will catch up with you in a moment."

Cara swept Grogu up, the suspicion she once had, gone as she gave the other female a stern, confident nod. Once the others had left, Din turned his head weakly.

"What can you do? I'm only going to slow you down," Din noticed she still had his hand. 

"I can't lose another person, I can help you-" she protested, reaching up for his helm.

Din slapped her hand away. "I cannot, even if you are Mandalorian."

" _ Please _ . Grogu needs you - look," she reached up and removed her own helmet. Blood oozed from a cut over her left eye where her helm had dug in. Closing her eyes she lifted her hands. "I can help you without looking."

"How?"

"The same way Grogu did with Greef last night," she told him.

Din battled with the idea, dying in front of her, where she could remove his helm after - or let her heal him with her eyes closed. Briila had proven she was trustworthy and honorable, why shouldn't he trust her? No living thing had seen him since he placed his helm on. It was either die or live. 

"Keep your eyes closed," he grunted, relinquishing control to her, his blaster in his hand. Her lingering might kill her, but if she looked, that would also kill her.

"I promise," she swore, keeping them shut as she reached forward, as if she could see exactly where his helm was. Removing it, the cool sting of the air bit him along with the acrid burn of the smoke; he coughed. Putting it down, she brought her hands to his head, brushing past his sweaty hair to press her palms to his skin. Her brows pinched together, face shifting as the pain began receding. 

His vision became sharper, clearer, the acute injury lessening, wounds closing. She gasped, sagging forward slightly in effort. "That... that is all I can do right now-" she told him, giving him a moment to replace his helm. 

"You can open your eyes," Din told her, watching her vibrant irises turning to him, half-lidded with exhaustion. Drawing a sharp breath, she stood, putting her helm back on.

"We shouldn't be too far behind," she slung her weapon back and pulled him to his feet. Staggering, she caught him, and draped an arm around her shoulders. 

"You're weak," he realized, thinking of how the kid was tired after using his magic. Her legs quaked slightly as she struggled in both the beskar and against his weight, but she got her second wind, standing up straight as the adrenaline pushed her.

"Better than you," Briila grunted with disdain. "Told you I don't leave men behind."

"You did," he managed a laugh. His body still ailed him, the shock of the explosion having not only hurt his head. However, those pains would disappear eventually, his head had been the worst trauma.

They went through the sewer grate and hobbled down the path, following after the rest of their ragtag bunch. Rounding a corner, Cara turned her head, eyes widening as she saw the two Mandalorians dragging themselves down the tunnel. Briila's leg gave out and she took a knee.

Cara rushed forward, helping take Din off of Briila's shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. Greef offered her hand, but after a minute, she shook her head and stood. Din could see that she was still tired, but she set her head forward. "Which way?" 

"We should take the lava river to the surface and escape," Greef suggested.

"They'll be waiting for us. We need more Mandalorians to even hope of getting off the planet," Din shook his head.

"Do you know the way?" Greef voice was still tinged with anxiety. They were not out of the clear yet. Only delaying the inevitable.

"I have never entered the sewers from here... I'll try," he admitted, putting another foot in front of him. "I can walk, help Briila."

Cara turned to the other Mandalorian, who then turned her helm to glare at Din - or at least he could feel the heat of her glare beneath the visor. "Where's the child?" she inquired, before noticing Grogu sleeping in the possession of IG-11. 

The sewers were a labyrinth of tunnels, all appearing similar, few distinctions to point him to where the covert was located. Greef was growing restless, Din taking another left, finally understanding where he was. 

"Here," his voice grew animated as he brought them forward, an eerie silence greeting them aside from the noise of a hammer against beskar, ringing melodically.

"I do not..." Briila dropped her voice, still staggering as she kept up with the group. "I do not-" Cara gripped her arm, keeping her from falling as she sagged slightly. "Dammit."

Din understood her confusion when they rounded the corner, sitting in front of them was a pile of discarded beskar. No one was there in the common area, just their armor as a testament to the genocide that had occurred. He took a step forward, reaching down to pick up some of it, realizing that he had brought this upon his kin. 

"Let me go!" Briila snapped, snagging her arm away from Cara, coming up alongside of him to stare at their fallen brothers and sisters. "How - there's so many of them..." she went to her knees, touching the beskar, flinching away. He wondered if she could hear their songs and understand what had occurred in the time since leaving Nevarro. 

"Did your guild have a hand in this?" Din asked Greef quietly, a threatening quiet, a deep rage threatening to boil over in combination with grief. 

"No!" Greef answered immediately and insistently. "My mercenaries disappeared after the Imperial occupation. We didn't have the manpower remaining to attempt flushing out the Mandalorians."

"He speaks the truth," the armorer appeared, speaking in a mellow, steady tone as she began loading the beskar into a floating mine cart. "The Imperials arrived following your departure. We knew what would happen when we came out of hiding. That was our choice to make... Some may have escaped, but it is difficult to say how many."

He let out a low, hissing breath, watching as Briila stood, lifting her head to gaze at the smith. The armorer returned to the smelter, the group gathering around her. Briila drew forward, staring at it as if she'd never seen one before.

"You are Mandalorian," the armorer said calmly. "I recognize the craft of your armor - the one who smelted it."

"Yes," Briila answered, running a glove along it. "This is one of few forges left. The armorer you refer to, his was discovered."

The armorer's head bowed, as if indicating her sorrow, but she dumped the beskar into the smelter. Beginning her work in silence.

"Come with us," Din entreated, hoping that he could conserve the last person in his Tribe.

"No, my duty is here. I will salvage the remains, but I shall not leave before," the armorer told him sternly. There was finality in her tone. No matter of convincing would sway her, he knew this. "I am glad that you have found a sister to assist you in your quest. Where is the asset that caused us so much strife?"

Turning around, he picked up Grogu from IG-11, showing the child to the armorer. "He is the one who saved me from the mudhorn."

"He looks so helpless," the armorer admitted. 

"It is not helpless. He uses the Force - Briila knows," Din explained. 

"The Force - I am familiar with this magic. Sorcerers called Jedi used them," her helm turned toward Briila. "Clan Kryze... You must know the history of Tarre Vizsla, the Jedi who returned to Mandalore and rallied our people with the darksaber as Mand'alor."

"I am familiar with these legends," Briila agreed softly.

"Perhaps you should look at them again - you have been training the child?"

"For now, but he needs a true master, one who can grow with him. He matures much slower than most races," Briila objected, but kept her voice steady, respectful.

"Jedi were enemies?" Din asked.

"Their kind were, for a long time, but one did try to help before Mandalore's fall - Obi-Wan Kenobi," the armorer admitted. "But they are gone, along with the Old Republic. This foundling is yours...  _ both  _ of your charges," she gazed between the two other Mandalorians.

"Then we must search the galaxy for the Jedi," Din realized, wondering how that was even possible. They were gone. Even Briila had hinted at few being in existence and finding one amongst the entire galaxy was worse odds than a needle in a haystack.

"This is the way," the armorer agreed. Silence aside from the smelter, echoed through the room, leaving them standing there in contemplation. "Take the group down the tunnel to the left, it will lead you to the lava river, which goes to the surface. You must leave in order to protect the foundling until it comes of age." Turning away she lifted a put with tongs, melted beskar contained within it. She poured it into a mold, letting it solidify before placing it in a water bucket. Steam hissed and rolled, boiling the water as it was forced to cool swiftly. "You have earned your signet-" her head inclined, glancing slightly toward Briila as she began to attach the symbol to his right pauldron. "You are now a clan. You, the child-" her words hung open, imploring.

"And Briila," he finished. The callalily on her shoulder was not a clan, though it was placed in that spot. He had come to realize it was not made of beskar, but scraps of metal to cover her old signet, the Kryze markings. She had sworn her oath and never mentioned others of the Calla Clan. She was a clan of one. Intertwined in the same quest for the child and her refusal to leave him behind - he knew it was the right thing to do.

Briila stiffened, but after a moment, took a step forward. 

The armorer removed a second pitcher of beskar from the smelter, pouring it into the same mold. While it cooled, she removed the callalily and old beskar signet, throwing them to the ground with a clatter. "I will clean this," Briila promised, voice quivering slightly.

The armorer nodded, picking up the mudhorn signet, attaching it to her pauldron. 

"I will wear it with honor," Briila told her, glancing toward him. Part of him wished he could see her face, to read the expression. 

"You have done your pack drills, have you not?" the smith asked him, picking up a shiny, new beskar jetpack. 

"Yes, when I was a child."

"This shall make you complete. Train with it or it shall not obey your orders," she warned him, offering the item.

Truthfully, he was still weak and the jetpack weighed a considerable amount. IG-11 turned, creaking down the hall, firing off a volley toward a forward group intending to storm the enclave. Their time had run out. 

"Go, more will come," the armorer said, watching as the IG unit returned. "Carry this for him until he is well enough to use it."

IG-11 accepted the jetpack.

"Be safe," the armorer bid her farewell, kneeling in front of her smithy, crossing hammer and axe over her chest. There would be no other words as she waited, signaling it was long past time they departed. He was reluctant, wishing that she would go with them, but he knew she had a duty to perform here. 

Turning down the hall, Briila carried the child close to her chest. The tunnels had been infiltrated at this point, Cara taking the lead as the weary Mandalorians followed closely behind. Taking the directions given by the armorer, they found themselves standing at an old, decrepit ferry. Lava had solidified into hard rock, crusting the boat to the dock and rendering the droid completely useless. 

* * *

Her mind buzzed, the honor of being bestowed a clan. This was not like before. She had earned this, not been handed it. The fact that Djarin trusted her enough to bring her into his clan bespoke volumes. Their terse exchanges up until this point - until she had healed him - were but dust in the wind. Now, they were partners, bound by the mudhorn sigil on their pauldrons. And yet, the words of the smith hung heavy on her shoulders. Tarre Vizsla, the Jedi then returned Mandalorian, was a very old tale, one her mother had impressed upon her too after she rejoined their ranks. It was a legend they wanted her to live, though she had walked away from it.

Now, their only escape method was shot, magma rolling down the sewers. Greef made an attempt to get it loose, but his blaster made no dent in the crust. Cara forced by him, leveling her own heavy blaster. It did the trick, sending chunks flying as the ferry groaned and the droid - some type of R-unit - chirped excitedly.

"What is it saying?" Din asked, exhaustion clear in his voice as he glanced at her. 

"It's asking where to go," Briila answered, jumping onto the ferry with the others. Grogu stirred, glancing up at her, placing a small hand against her helm. Her heartstrings pulled, aware that they still hadn't made the last run at this point. He was still in danger. In more severe danger than any of them had anticipated. Moff Gideon might know her name, but he was ignorant to where she had spent half her life.  _ I will not fail you, _ she promised Grogu.

"Downriver to the lava flats," Greef instructed. Truthfully, she was a bit surprised by his turn of character. Not all bounty hunters were honorable types like Djarin and yet Greef had laid down his life to remain faithful to them. Perhaps it was self preservation, being aware that Gideon wouldn't let him walk after this, that he'd committed fully to them.

Along the inky banks, crimson eyed rodents scurried along, eying them dubiously - the first travelers in a long while. Ahead, clean light, not the amber glow from the lava. Freedom was within view.

"There's a platoon waiting outside for us," Din reported, hand to his helm as he scanned for a thermal signature. 

Briila considered their options, wondering if she could utilize the Force to give them a moment to react. It became glaringly apparent how out of practice she was with healing and telekinesis, having not resorted to those abilities since she had left Kenobi's side. Just healing Din's head injury had stolen away most of her energy, even now she felt weak just standing.

"Stop the boat," Cara turned to the droid. "Stop the boat!" The droid did not answer, in her fury she blew its head off. They continued to list forward at a grating speed, aware that eventually they'd be at the entrance.

"I will engage self destruct protocol - as found in manufacturer's code. I cannot be apprehended, per my protocol," IG-11 spoke up, looking between them with its circular red eyes.

"You can help us shoot our way out," Din argued, surprisingly for someone who disliked droids.

IG-11 looked back to the entrance. "The chance of success is low."

"You were directed to protect the child. That comes before your default protocol, doesn't it?" Din retorted.

"It does... In order to default to my second commands, you must promise me you shall watch the child," IG-11 explained. "This will allow you to live and I shall have fulfilled my duty."

"But you'll die," Din objected.

"I was never alive."

Silence threatened to smother them.

"I promise," Briila told the droid. "We shall protect the child."

Din snapped his head toward her, fury lining his shoulders as he tensed, but he paused and nodded. They had no other options without one of them dying.

Despite the tense situation, Briila seemed to find her sense of humor. "You seem almost sad," she remarked smugly.

"I am not," he muttered sharply.

IG-11 stepped out of the protection of the ferry, sinking into the lava. Briila knew well how this would begin to eat at its very fiber. It held up in spite of it, pressing ahead of them toward the exit. Wires were beginning to sizzle, snapping and flying around his limbs as he became shorter. Holding her breath, she prayed that he would make it far enough to self destruct. He did.

IG-11 stopped. "Manufacturer's protocol dictates that I cannot allow capture-" his core began to glow, panic hitting her as she sensed the fear the Stormtroopers felt as they realized what was going to happen. He imploded, snuffing out the life forces before them, allowing for Briila to release a pent up breath. Still, the Force quavered, she did not feel safe.

The ferry left the confines of their anticipated tomb, the clear sky breaking above them. While the others had relaxed, she felt her own shoulders pinch, watching as Moff Gideon's TIE fighter strafed into view. 

"Shit," Cara cursed, raising her rifle, firing after it, but there was no way any of their guns would reach the agile ship.

"Can't the kid use his magic to crash it?" Greef asked desperately.

"No, he's too weak," Briila answered. Even she doubted she had the ability to crash a ship at full strength and would require the strength of multiple Jedi to stop. Her eyes listed to Din, watching as he was about to ignite his jetpack. "Take these-" she removed her pulse sticky bombs from her belt, three in total.

Accepting them, he burst off the ferry, leaving the rest of them behind.  _ May the Force be on your side, _ she thought, wondering how he was managing to do this. He had to be hurting still, she had only managed to heal his head trauma, not the rest of what the explosion had done to him.

They watched on bated breath as Djarin waited for the TIE fighter to come back around, using his grappling hook to snag a wing. His body was jerked forward like a ragdoll, momentarily stunned, before he was able to engage the retractor on the rope. Closing her eyes, she reached out, trying to see what was happening as the TIE fighter spiraled in an attempt to send Din off.

He was gripping the edge of the wing, trying to plant a sticky grenade. Gideon used evasive maneuvers once again, sending one of the grenades from Din's hands and into the wind. He was clinging to the ship now, making an attempt to not fall off, his grasp slipping.

Briila reached out, gripping him with the Force, steadying him as he clung, giving him the time to finally plant a grenade. He released from the ship and before the darkness consumed her vision, she pressed her glove, detonating the bomb. 

When she awoke again, Greef and Cara were standing over her, Grogu tapping her helmet, trying to rouse her. He was frantic, afraid that she would not get up, having sensed the energy she expelled - almost all she had left - to help Din. They had left the ferry behind and were on the lava flats, where Greef was entreating them to rejoin the guild.

"Your lady-friend - Brita? - can join the Guild too," he was saying.

" _ Briila _ ," she croaked, correcting him.

"We cannot. Not yet anyways," Din informed Greef.

"At least stay for the night to clean up and relax. It's the least I can do seeing you've washed Nevarro of this scum and villainy," Greef offered. 

Djarin glanced toward her as she sat up, placing her helmet between her hands, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her in a tidal wave. While she stifled the urge to vomit, he spoke up, "Just for the night."

"Hey, Bree, can you walk?" Dune asked her.

"Probably not," she grimaced, though mildly amused by the nickname, accepting the help from the shocktrooper. 

"Get a little faint? Worried about Mando?" Dune joked beneath her breath in her ear.

They didn't know what she had done. How could they? Maybe even Din hadn't realized she had helped keep him on the ship. "Something like that," she agreed to Din's chagrin, the woman beside her chuckling.

To be honest, she was eager to get a fresh bath, maybe it would ease the exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realllllllll long chapter. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm going to try to update 1 to 2 times a week. Please let me know what you think :)


	5. The Armor Doesn't Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officially a part of Clan Mudhorn, Briila must decide where her heart truly lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny bit of spice and pining ~ Just a warning for y'all :)

He should have fallen off the ship, his grip had been slipping, and he had only the briefest moment to plant a bomb. But a strange feeling had come over him, as if gravity did not apply, as he was magnetized to the ship, allowing for him to plant the grenade with no issues. While it had felt queer, he didn't fully comprehend who or what had done it, until he returned to his allies and saw Grogu fussing over Briila's unconscious form. He knew there was more to her, even the armorer had known, referencing Tarre Vizsla, but until this point he couldn't confirm his suspicions. 

This was the padawan that the mysterious old man on the hologram had trained. He did not doubt it now, especially seeing as she had healed him in the same way that Grogu had. He assumed a padawan was a Jedi in training, but couldn't be certain, he did not know or understand their ways. She had turned her back on the Jedi path to rejoin the Mandalorians - perhaps that was why the armorer had made such a reference to Clan Vizsla.

Cara helped her to her feet after Greef convinced them to stay for the night to rest. A convoy was sent out to retrieve Kuiil's body, so that a proper burial could be conducted. Din made certain he was there to help, letting Briila rest, taking the kid with him as he stared down at lava rock grave. The Ugnaught had redeemed himself, proving that he was more than the fallacies of his past. Din only wished that neither Kuiil or IG-11 had to perish.

_ We're a clan now,  _ he thought, tucking Grogu back into his pram so that he could enjoy the luxuries of a full bathroom and bed. His mind still reeled with all the information he now had as he showered, thinking back to Briila, the concentration as she healed him, refusing to leave him behind. He thought this reaction indicative of having left another, important person, behind. 

He hadn't needed to invite her to his clan, but the more he thought about it, the way she had been wandering the galaxy - she had no home. Her destiny was intertwined with Grogu's and in turn, his. Once the kid had found a proper master and home, Briila was free to go where she pleased, but he hoped that she'd remain part of his clan. Aside from the obvious benefits of having a mechanic at his disposal, they worked well together. They understood each other's motivations and complimented another in battle. Then, there were other emotions lurking beneath the surface, ones that he hadn't felt in a long while.

The physical attraction was there and why not? Briila Kryze was an incredibly attractive Mandalorian - her fire red hair, pale milky skin, the comely structure of her face from her straight nose to full lips, but it was her eyes that drew him in the most. Bright, sharp, deep set, like burning ghosts against her hair. Her dry sense of humor and nonchalance was sometimes aggravating, but that had been when he was suspicious of her. She could be serious when needed, but off the books, she knew that the galaxy could be shitty and laughed in spite of it. 

Lust was not something he was immune to and it had been a long time since he'd done anything. It was difficult, as most women did not understand his fixation with keeping his helm on. Briila had never taunted him, never questioned it. When she realized he was a foundling, she left his helm alone, though she removed her own with ease. Of course, she was Mandalorian by blood, the helm did not have the same connotations to her. 

And when his helm had to come off, she still respected his wishes to not look at his face. 

All his past relationships had revolved around his refusal, eventually falling away at their lack of comprehension. This brought him back to his original thoughts, on how many Mandalorians did not adhere to this ideal - that only his convent did. It was all he had known since he had been given his helm. 

He grew irritated realizing his own arousal at the thought of her. Traveling the galaxy as a lone bounty hunter had both bonuses and drawbacks. One of those drawbacks being that he was rarely intimate with others. Now, sharing a ship with a comely woman, it was only natural his thoughts might slide to what she looked like beneath the beskar and cloth. Even if there was the mystery of her history, Din couldn’t shake away the hardness he now had. 

Running his hand along his length he shuddered, images of her bright hair and eyes appearing behind closed eyes as he stroked himself, thinking of the timbre of her mellow, alto voice without the modulator in her mask. Leaning against the wall of the shower, he couldn’t get her out of his head and her face as she had been healing him - her palms against his head, in his hair, soft look of her lips… He came, both relieved and shameful that he’d thought of her in such a way. Briila might have been in his clan, but that didn’t mean she had to sleep with him. 

Stepping out of the shower, the mirror was fogged up, his chest still wheezing with effort. He dressed in his padded clothing, replacing his helm after he had brushed through his messy hair, leaving the stubble on his face. Shoving on his boots, he trailed down the hall with Grogu in tow, sleeping peacefully in his pram.

For a moment, he considered leaving her to rest, but decided to knock anyway. If she was asleep, she wouldn't answer. He waited for all of 30 seconds, deciding to leave her be, when the door cracked open and a flushed Briila stood in the doorway. She was the most dressed down he had seen her, standing in just a pair of trousers and a tight fitting undershirt. Without her chest bindings on, he could see the outline of her nipples and the curve of her breasts. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair damp and in a towel as she gazed up at him. 

Clearly, she was still tired, her eyes half lidded. "Come in," she let him by, turning and collapsing in a chair as she continued to dry her hair. "I see you've washed up."

_ And done other things _ , he thought wryly, but did not voice this to her. Especially not in her slight indecency, though he couldn’t bring his eyes away. "Yes, and put Kuiil to rest."

She paused, but then gave a grim nod. "He was a good person. Fate dealt him an unkind hand, but he redeemed the actions he regretted," she admitted with a sad sigh. An awkward air hung between them before she glanced back at him. "Thank you... for considering me worthy to be in your clan. I know things have been tense between us."

Wishing he could take back his initial doubt, he nodded. However, it was this doubt and cautiousness that had helped him survive in the galaxy, why did he feel bad now? "You deserved it," he assured her. "You never mentioned your clan, so I assumed that you were one - and the Calla sigil-"

"Was not made of beskar," she finished. "You would be correct."

Her beskar was on the table, the pauldrons having been cleaned completely of paint, glistening like the day they came off the forge. "You weren't resting?" he frowned, approaching to see the mudhorn sigil shining brightly.

"Other things needed to be done first," she retorted sternly.

While he respected her dedication, he was also irritated that she wasn't taking care of herself. At least, not in the proper order. 

"Don't be cross with me. I was about to turn in before you arrived," Briila said nonchalantly, cocking a smirk at him. 

"I can leave," he turned back to the door.

"No, it's fine. I can sense you have questions for me."

Cursing the Jedi magic, he gazed at her again. "Why did you leave your last clan?"

"That is a long, rather arduous tale, but to put it shortly - I did not get along with them. My 'mother' leads the Kryze Clan and since we were reunited, she has always had an image of me in her head that is not what I aspire to be... These expectations, I knew it was not what the Force intended for me and my obstinance only garnered ridicule amongst my fellow clan members. I left on my own accord, not because I was forced to."

"And we get along markedly better?" he pointed out.

"You only expect me to protect the child, to help deliver him to a proper teacher... So yes, we get along much better," she snipped.

"Reunited, what do you mean by that?"

"I only embraced my Mandalorian heritage recently - a little less than a decade ago. That's what I mean."

Cara had been correct. She might be Mandalorian, but not completely. He didn't know how to take this news. She had not trained to earn her beskar and yet it fit her so well. The smith had acknowledged that it was also smelted for her. He should have been upset, but she had saved him multiple times and proven to be an honorable, true Mandalorian if not acquiring it through training per usual.

"You were with that Jedi Master before? Did he kidnap you?"

"No, my mother brought me to him. It was the Jedi that the armorer referred to - Obi-Wan Kenobi," saying the name out loud brought pain to her face. "He was the only master I knew for a long time and trained me in their ways. When I returned to Clan Kryze, I turned away from that path. I knew that I could not be both a Jedi and Mandalorian. Clan Kryze needed me, but they expected me to be a weapon, a way to destroy the Empire and reclaim Mandalore. It was a lot of pressure - led to a lot of fights. I wished to become one of them, but the Force was always tugging me back. Eventually, I went on my own, searching for the path which I was supposed to tread and that brought me to Grogu."

"Back to your Jedi ties," he realized. 

"I'm out of practice, that's obvious by my inability to accomplish things I could have easily done in my 20s. But... I don't know if I can go back. To be a Jedi is to forsake all attachment, so that you do not fall prey to the Dark Side. I'm afraid I can't do that and so... I do not feel worthy. Even this beskar is heavy, I do not deserve to walk this path. I've been masquerading, turning my back on my original destiny."

Din remained quiet in the front of the revelation and the inner turmoil that wracked his new partner. It was a lot to process - her being trained in the ways of an old enemy before trying to return to being Mandalorian. "You speak about attachment and fear, yet you have been living in confusion - uncertain of yourself. Shouldn't this be enough to bring you toward the Dark Side? And yet, here you are, without the darkness clouding you... Forgive me, I don't quite understand your sorcery."

Briila paused, considering his words. "Perhaps, but now seeing this darkness in Grogu... It is why I am afraid to teach him. With my own internal strife, I fear I could transition these emotions to him. He needs a Jedi who survived Order 66, one who understands the old ways better than I, and I know where we can get information of such a Jedi."

"You do?"

"Yes, on Coruscant I have a contact."

"You should not reject what feels right. If the beskar is heavy, perhaps you shouldn't wear it," he was colder than he intended to be, but Briila, in a manner, had lied to him. 

Briila glanced toward her armor, her countenance falling. "Maybe I should not - I... I need to meditate on this."

Understanding that it was time for him to leave, he retreated, his heart pounding in his ears. Finally, he had another Mandalorian he could trust and was in his clan, but even that image was fading quickly. Briila was struggling and she had been for a long time. These emotions, he had picked up on them when they originally met, it was why they butt heads. Now, garnering the whole story - or as much as she was willing to convey - he wondered what to do.

_ Continue. The smith gave her the sigil and seemed to know what she was. I trust her, she's Mandalorian. I would not have trusted another space sorcerer if they hadn't come in beskar, _ Din reminded himself, bringing the child back to his room. The original feelings he had for her came back to bite him with recurring doubt. If this Force worked in mysterious ways, maybe it was what had brought them together, finally giving Briila direction for the first time in her life. Spurning her might turn her to the Dark Side. As conflicted as he felt, she was now part of his clan, and he couldn't do that - not within good conscience.

Hopefully time would mend the issues between them.

* * *

He was right. Glaringly so. The beskar had been crafted for her, but she had not earned it as Mandalorians typically did. Instead, it had been crafted from the armor of someone who had worked hard to earn it. There had been days when the beskar felt right, but most often it felt heavy and as if she were wearing the bones of another. Placing her hand on the chest piece, she could hear its song, but not hers. Ripping her hand away she felt tears in the corners of her eyes.

_ Father, I wish you were here to tell me what I should do,  _ she thought, the furious tears leaking out of her eyes. No, he had died training his last padawan, facing the 1st in battle to perish. The moment his lifeforce had been snuffed from the galaxy, she had felt it. He had always been there like a warm shadow, reassuring her that one day she would know what to do. Now, she walked a grey path with no direction.

_ I know he's upset. I shouldn't have told him so much, but I can't help it. Lying does nothing but hurt my soul,  _ she thought to Din Djarin. Even if she could not see his face, she knew what he was feeling. Her attunement to the Force was always strong, but ever since coming in contact with Grogu, it was threatening to overwhelm her and claim her destiny. 

Glancing back to the beskar, she knew that Din was right. Today had been her final battle in it. The only piece she deserved wearing were the pauldrons with their clan sigil. Perhaps that was why she had cleaned them, insisting on finishing them before resting. Her eyes slid next to the preserved lilies. She had not told Din why Obi-Wan meant so much to her and it was deeper than the bond they had shared as she grew.

He had loved her aunt - the Jedi who preached practicing constraint had loved Satine Kryze. Bo-katan had told her once she found the lilies underneath the beskar bars, saying that Briila had Satine's eyes. Her heart had nearly ripped out, wondering what it had been like for Obi-Wan, seeing his dead lover's eyes through her niece. This was what had thrown her, knocking her off balance, and setting her up for failure amongst the Mandalorians. 

Obi-Wan had loved her and she knew she loved him back. He was her father. Bo-Katan would never be her mother.

But love was forbidden, it made you weak.

Frustrated, she wept, sitting on the edge of the bed, wishing that the answer was right in front of her. Kenobi was no longer here and she knew that her destiny was her own to find out. Did Din hate her? Was he regretting accepting her into the Clan, only to find out that she was a faker? _The Pretender._

"Briila." 

Her eyes opened, snapping up her neck as she looked in the direction of Obi-Wan's voice. 

"Collect your emotions."

Drawing a shuddering breath, she tried to push aside the swirling, storm of emotions. It took her a few minutes, but she was desperate to hear him again. Finally, her heart decrescendoed as she clutched her knees. Becoming like this - distraught - could only lead her down the wrong path. Such a side had never beckoned only once before and now she had taken this road to finding the child a home. 

Maybe because she was confronting a life she had left behind, rejecting the majority of the Force until this point. When she opened her eyes, she had half hoped that Obi-Wan might stand before her as a Force spirit, but this was not the case. 

_ You know what you must do, _ she told herself. If she did not do it, she was putting everyone at risk due to her own selfishness. Denying the Force until this point had been a rebellion against her mother, refusing to play the part as Tarre Vizsla. Now she was suffering and others would too. Obi-Wan had trained her for this moment.

_ I need to go to Tatooine...  _ Briila wondered if Din would take her, but resigned herself to meditation. She needed to center herself, give herself a foundation, and then confirm what path she was going to walk. The path of Light had always come naturally to her, now it was time to stop ignoring its alluring, warm call.

Closing her eyes, she reached out into space, the same space she had coached Grogu on. It was time to shed the skin as a Mandalorian - it had gotten here where she needed to be. Now, she had to become a Jedi again.

* * *

Packing up the next morning she felt more refreshed than she had in years. Briila preened at the thought, wrapping up the beskar, only securing the pauldrons to her shoulders. In need of proper attire, she had stepped out and traded with a local Jawa, acquiring a blue robe blouse, working from early dawn to fix the size and style. By the time Din knocked on her door, Briila was ready, blowing a piece of dust off of her pauldrons, which glistened beautifully. 

Rather than a lightsaber, she had her rifle still slung on her back. Until they went to Tatooine, she would be only half of what she could be. Her long hair had been braided away from her face, falling loose down her back save for the multiple braids she had laced into it. She held the wrapped beskar in her arms and she opened the door, greeting Din with a smile, worried that he was still upset with her.

He turned, observing her and the choice to put the beskar away. Rather than spurn or ignore her, he gave a short jerk of his head. "That suits you better," he informed her, not relishing another compliment on her before continuing down the hall.

Sighing in relief, she followed, glancing into the pram to make a silly face at Grogu. The child cooed excitedly, beckoning to be lifted. "Not yet, youngling. On the ship."

Grogu grumbled and sat back down. 

Greef Kagra was out in the main lobby, which was still being cleaned up. Having heard that the occupancy was over, many other bounty hunters returned and were helping get the Guild situated. Cara was taking a break at the bar, turning around to see them approaching. 

"Ah-" she stopped to look at Briila. "Why aren't you wearing your beskar?"

"Yesterday was my last fight in the armor. There's another path I must follow now - for the sake of Grogu," Briila explained.

"What are you going to do with it?" Cara asked curiously.

Originally, she had been suspicious of Briila. Even the shocktrooper had noticed that Briila was at war with herself when they had met, sensing that beneath the beskar was another creature entirely. 

"We will return it to where it belongs," Din answered, glancing at her. 

"Well, can you at least tell me where you got that rifle, Bree? I'm thinking of getting one myself. Never seen one capable of switching between fire modes," Cara said, gesturing to the weapon on her back.

"I modified it myself," Briila admitted. "Here, take it. I'll use a blaster... I can always make another." But she wouldn't. Slipping it overhead, she gifted Cara with the assault rifle. 

"What?" she was eager, but glanced between rifle and Briila. "Let me pay for it or something. It's one of a kind if you made it."

"No, think of it as gratuity for helping us," Briila insisted, sad to see it go, but she knew that Cara would make much better use of it. She had made the rifle when first returning to the Kryze Clan. All of her grenades and missiles had been modified by her hand, but now she expected it would be best to give Din what remained. While it was a sad moment, she couldn't help but feel liberated after shedding the skin that had never fit her. Only the pauldrons remained and they were comfortable.

"I helped because we're all friends and to get back at those damn Imps," Cara retorted, but held the weapon close to her chest. "Be safe."

"No promises," Din replied, glancing toward Greef who had wormed his way over.

"Leaving?" Greef said, slightly disappointed. "You quitting fighting?" he glanced at Briila.

"Ha, nothing like that. But you won't see me in full beskar again," Briila grinned.

"What? Is Mando making you do that because your helm got removed?" Greef huffed, throwing a glare over at the man.

"I did it on my own accord. Although, Djarin did help convince me in part," Briila admitted.

"Oh yeah?" Greef threw him a sardonic look. "Probably not exactly what he was referring to if he asked to see beneath your beskar."

Cara snorted, trying to hold back a laugh.

Briila smiled in good humor, she wasn't a doleful or shy person. "Oh no, he wasn't that transparent," she teased.

Greef's brows shot up in amusement and he gave Din a pat on the shoulder. "You've got your hands full with these two. Take care of yourself, Mando. I want to see you both back here one day, taking bounties together."

"No promises," Briila hummed this time, a hint of deviousness in her voice.

Din turned his helm toward her, perhaps in annoyance in playing their game, but then relented. "Hopefully," he resigned. "But the child comes first."

"Don't be strangers," Greef said, letting them leave the common house, and make way for the ship. 

Briila was astonished to see that the Razor Crest was near the town, Din must have gone to get it when they had recovered Kuiil's body. The loading dock was opened, allowing passage for them, R8-T1 beeping animatedly as they approached. It noticed a change in Briila immediately, reaching out and picking at her blouse. 

"Confused?" she smiled, patting the droid on the head. "Sorry to leave you alone, you must have been worried."

"Weeeeooooo."

"Worried? It's a droid," Din commented as he closed the door behind them. 

"R8 is very empathetic for a droid. That's why I'm rather attached to it," Briila admitted, hanging the beskar in the cargo hold. "Plus it's a damn good droid. If you give it permission, it could act as a secondary pilot."

Din turned to look at the droid, who was still poking around Briila's new clothing. "I mean..." he hissed a sigh. "My ship doesn't have a spot for it go."

"R8 can tap into the controls by the steering. If the both of us ever need to rest, it'll continue to actively monitor or bring us to a planet rather than just relying on autopilot," she explained, rolling her shoulders, which were rather sore from the fight the day before.

"I'm not crazy about the idea, but... it doesn't seem  _ that  _ bad," Din finally bent, R8 chirping excitedly. "It's a weird droid, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but that's what makes it the best," Briila grinned, resting her palm on the top of R8. "That IG unit seems to have changed your perception on droids… Or I didn’t heal all of your head trauma."

"There's a reason I don't trust them."

"I didn't say there wasn't," she eased lightly. "But Kuiil was right. Droids are neutral, bound by their programming and those that influence them."

Din hmmed, going up to the cockpit to begin taking them off Nevarro. Glancing down to R8, she gave it a little thumbs up, before opening the pram and picking Grogu up. Running a finger along one of his long, green ears, she couldn't help but beam at him. Moff Gideon was gone and they could work diligently at finding his true home. She was still curious if Moff Gideon had any other officers working with him on these experiments, but only time would reveal this.

Grogu patted her, thrilled that she was whole and that he could see her face. After the scare he had yesterday, it was no wonder. As much as she hated to admit it, the youngling was also becoming rather attached to her. She wondered if she could ease him toward the Light, showing him that it was possible to be objective when it mattered most. 

Bringing him up to the cockpit, she sat down in the copilot seat. 

"He's fond of you," Din commented, breaking through the atmosphere, about to input the coordinates for Coruscant.

"Wait. Do Tatooine instead," she objected, reaching out to stop him.

Din glanced back, pausing to observe her. "Why?"

"I need to resolve the last few ghosts I have and... if I am to become what I was, I must reclaim what actually is mine. There are better weapons deserving of a Jedi than a blaster."

"Is that why you gave your rifle away?" 

"Yes, I no longer need it."

"Perhaps you might have waited until you had this secret Jedi weapon?"

Briila chuckled. "I can make due with a blaster."

"Fine, we'll go to Tatooine first... I think I recall how much you disliked this planet when we first met."

"I really do loathe the sand," she breathed, lips curling up at his memory. "I spent 15 years on Tatooine. That's plenty of time for me to grow to dislike it."

"And lava and ice."

"I recall  _ also  _ saying that I like green planets."

Putting the coordinates in, Din engaged the ship into hyperspace. The countdown read just over a couple of standard days to reach their destination. Turning back to her, "Maybe you can call your droid up here. It's going to be a bit before we arrive."

"R8!" she called, craning her neck.

R8 beeped in acknowledgement, jetting up the ladder to the cockpit, glancing around curiously. 

"We're going to Tatooine, Mando has already set the destination. Take us out of hyperspace at the appropriate time and notify us when we're about to break the atmosphere. Handle the steering until we relieve you," Briila ordered, the droid happy to have something to do as it rolled forward and engaged the steering wheel.

"You can just call me Din," he told her, turning his chair away from the droid. 

"I thought no one used your name... I didn't want to make assumptions-"

"Din is fine. We're in the same clan now."

Reminded of that, her eyes went to her pauldrons. 

Thinking of the clan, thinking of the both of them. Turning her eyes back to him, "You're not upset with me?"

Having stood now, Din turned toward her, his beskar glimmering. "No, I understand why you didn't say anything. Jedi were enemies of Mandalorians - to be both..." he trailed off, bending down to place his hands on her pauldrons, pressing down slightly. "That must have been a lot to deal with. Even if you do not wear full beskar and reclaim your Jedi title, the both of you are still part of my clan. You have proven, without a doubt, that your interest is for him and me."

Briila closed her eyes, a low breath parting from her lips in relief. Part of her had been nervous about this, trying to pretend that she wasn't worried that Din might hate her, but would continue to honor her promise in spite of it. He touched his helm to her brow, a gesture that she understood meant more, despite the beskar separating them. Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him, sensing him and his heat behind the helm. Her heart fluttered, color touching her cheeks as she jumped up, forcing him a step back. 

"I should work with Grogu. Now that I am not hiding what I truly am, my own skills need sharpening. These two days will work well for practicing our telekinesis," Briila broke in, looking for an excuse to get out of this situation. Just a man, woman, and child on a ship. It had been easier with the others with them, but now there was only Grogu separating them. While she felt she had found her way, engaging in this path might cost her.  _ Tarre did it. Why not you? It's in your blood. _

Before he could object, she jumped down the ladder, padding her fall delicately with the Force. Her knees hummed, excited for the comfort and familiarity. Glancing down at Grogu she smiled warmly. "Now youngling, we must practice. I will not be sending you to another master without your abilities being refined."

Setting him near her cot, she picked up a ration bar still in its wrapping. Opening her palm, she focused, levitating it in her hand. Grogu cooed in excitement, climbing on her shoulder, pulling her long hair as he threatened to fall. 

"Ah - ow! Grogu! Focus!" she kept her voice smooth in spite of his fooling around. "Take it from me."

Grogu was now on top of her head, trying to grab the bar from where it floated in front of her face. 

"I'll give it to you if you take it," she started the game, pushing the bar away from her, across the ship, too high for him to reach on his feet. 

Grogu huffed, sliding down from her head, plopping down on the cot. He didn't seem too interested in it, only displeased that he had to make an effort in this sport. 

She spun it around, moving it around, watching his round eyes follow it. He lifted a hand, focusing on the bar, trying to snag it from her grasp. 

"I know you've done more impressive things. Come now," she clucked, tugging it away from him. 

Grogu protested, glaring up at her. 

"Well it wasn't easy in the Temple, was it?"

He grumbled, but focused back on acquiring the ration bar in a battle of invisible tug-o-war. She didn't use her full strength, testing his pull before allowing him to take it. He caught it in his tridactyl hands, opening it to begin munching on the bar. Nonplussed by the bland taste, he glanced up smugly.

"See? The more we work at this, the better you will get."

* * *

Grogu and Briila practiced their Jedi tricks during the time to Tatooine. Seeing them both like this, it felt right, compared to when she had been wearing the beskar. Her fiery hair glistened down her back and the blue robe blouse complimented her skin and eyes. The kid was opening up with her teachings, Briila demonstrating her own talent with telekinesis. She might have admitted to being out of practice, but it was still amazing to observe them. Maybe he had been too forward, but she had been antsy around him since he had put his helm to her head. 

_ Jedi aren't supposed to form attachments. She told me this. If she's reclaiming her original destiny, then she cannot be with me,  _ he had recalled after she took a break to go over the equipment from her beskar. 

"Take them, I have little use for these gadgets," she was unloading the missile system, vibro-blades, and grenades. Her kit was personalized and revolved around the use of electricity and pulsation.

"You made all these?" he ran his hands over the grenades.

"I did," she smiled, proud of her work. "I've always been good at mending and creating things - flesh or metal. Special equipment for a special Mandalorian..." A wistful expression fell over her countenance as she leaned against the workbench. "I can craft things for you too. Give me an idea of items you may want made, I can draft schematics, and then craft them - within reason."

Her original worth was doubling right in front of him. He had wondered where she had acquired such special equipment, but to learn that she had crafted it was an entirely different story. No wonder why she liked droids, she knew just as much as the Ugnaught. "Where'd you learn how to do all of this?"

"Master Kenobi... well, and just messing around with crap. Tatooine tends to have trash just lying around," she shrugged, bringing an amusing image to his mind as he thought of a young, fire haired girl picking up litter and fashioning weapons with it. 

"I thought Jedi did not use other weapons," he pointed out.

"They don't usually - aside from starfighters. Doesn't mean we don't know how to handle them. Master Kenobi always encouraged my interest in tinkering. There was also plenty of stuff to fix, for locals, in our own hut... Again, Tatooine is kind of a shitty planet without a lot to do."

"I know, I've been there plenty of times. The sand gets  _ everywhere _ ," he acknowledged, turning over the grenades in his hand. 

"Don't remind me," she grumbled, though a smirk tucked itself away on her face in good humor. "I guess I understand why people hide out there."

"No one goes to Tatooine unless they  _ have  _ to," Din pointed out, placing the grenades on his belt. 

"If you let me borrow your vambrace, I'll program the grenade detonation to it," she offered, holding out a hand. 

Din nodded, removing the beskar, placing it in her hand. Returning to the bench, Briila grabbed a welding mask, and began working the wires to swap the controls from her old kit to his. There wasn't much to do on the ship. Before her and the kid, he might have just remained in the cockpit or slept. Now, Grogu was sleeping, leaving him to wander around aimlessly as R8 watched the dash. He sat down, observing as she hunched over, moving expertly. 

While the glint of beskar armor on another filled him with a deep comfort, seeing Briila in trousers and a robe-blouse was much more attractive. Perhaps it was because he liked her hair and eyes that he thought this. Few people naturally had such vibrant hair, a beacon amongst a cold and dull galaxy. Leaning against the ship, he dozed off watching the spark of the tools she worked diligently with. 

When he woke up, his back ached from not having removed his beskar prior. Briila had laid down on her cot and was asleep. Stretching, he felt a blanket fall from his shoulders, one that had not been their prior. He also knocked down a pillow that had been propped behind his neck. Staring at the fallen items, he realized it was her pillow that she had given him.

Picking it up, he approached where she was sleeping, noticing that Grogu had curled up beside her. For someone who was supposed to walk a path without attachment, she had already bonded enough with the kid that he was utterly relaxed in her company. Grogu might see him as a father, but he also saw Briila as more than the mentor she had hoped to be.

Delicately, he lifted her head and put the pillow back beneath it. 

"Gedet'ye vaabir nayc ba'slanar ni, Cenx," (Please do not leave me, Cenx) she murmured in her sleep, brows forced together painfully as she grabbed him, sensing where his hand was before he could remove it. 

Din remained crouched awkwardly for a moment, wondering what he should do, watching as a nightmare plagued her. Unable to take his hand away, he sat on the ground beside them. His thoughts went to her refusal to abandon him back on Nevarro, the insistence in her voice, humming with the power of the Force. Was Cenx another Mandalorian she lost? 

* * *

Tatooine was just as sandy and bright as she remembered. Placing her hand above her face to shade it from the sun, she grimaced, wishing that she had her helm back on to keep it from blinding her. They had landed in Mos Eisley, to a friend of Din's, in a hangar labeled 3-5. A woman with wildly curly hair sputtered out, chastising a set of DUM pit droids. It had been a while since she'd seen the clunkers, bending down to inspect them. 

"You know he doesn't like droids! Get out of there!" the woman roared, bringing her eyes to Briila, and then Din.

"Ah, it's alright. The ship could use cleaning," he relented, the woman's brows shooting up.

"Ooh, where is he? Ah!" she wiggled her fingers, plucking Grogu up from the pram, cradling him in her arms in a matronly manner. "And who is this? A new lady friend?"

"Briila," she introduced, offering a gloved hand to the woman. 

"Name is Peli Motto," she shook her hand back, observing the beskar on Briila's shoulders, before turning back to Djarin. "What're you doing back here? I was worried about you, wondering if you'd gotten yourself into more trouble... Maybe you have, but I think I'd like that sort of trouble if it came packaged so nicely."

Briila snickered at her lewd joke, hiding behind a hand as Din stiffened. 

"Hey!" Peli glared at the DUM droids, which were now flailing with a coil. "Come on! He gives you a little room and now you're going to blow it all away. Eesh!"

"We're here on a mission," Din interrupted, glancing over at Briila for more guidance.

"We have to ride out far. North of where Mos Pelgo used to be - or what remains of it anyways. I expect it's just a few rag tag moisture farms," she explained.

"You from round here?" Peli asked curiously.

"Yes, I grew up here. Lived rural though."

"Surprised you weren't stolen by the sand people. They don't usually let pretty things remain on the sands for long."

A cold laugh escaped her lips. "Trust me, my father wouldn't have allowed them to take me."

"Well, if you're riding out that far, it's gonna take a while unless you fly. Although, probably won't be a good place for you to land in the Razor. I've got an old Zephyr-J speeder bike that'll get you out there, but you'll have to ride together," Peli offered, giving Din a sly smile, as if she was doing him a favor. 

Briila grimaced at the thought of trying to hold onto a man in a hot, reflective beskar. "I'm driving. I don't need third degree burns from your armor," she sniffed.

"I can watch the kid while you two go out there," Peli offered brightly, smiling down at Grogu. 

Din shifted his weight, considering it.

"I mean, you won't sell him to me, so at  _ least  _ let me babysit for a bit. Desert sand isn't the best place for a wee little lad like him," Peli reminded him, tickling Grogu on the ear.

Din glanced at Briila, wishing to confirm his instincts. Glancing toward the woman, she felt no malice, only good intention. She nodded. "Fine. Watch him. We'll return as swiftly as we can," he promised.

Motto prepared the bike for their journey, giving Briila a headscarf and sand goggles. Using the time to begin packing the bike, she reasoned the amount of rations after calculating the time it would take to get there. If they stopped in Mos Pelgo, the small mining town, they could refill on water and food. Once they were ready, half the day had passed, though Peli was good at keeping Grogu distracted. 

"We'll be back, I promise you, youngling," she swore, brushing his head and behind his ear. 

"See you soon kid," Din bid, letting the child hold his finger, before drawing it away.

Briila hopped on the bike, drawing the scarf up and wrapping it tightly as she lowered the goggles. Revving the bike, she glanced back at Din, cocking her head, forgetting that he couldn't see the expression on his face. "I can always go on my own," she offered, noticing that he was looking back at Grogu.

"No... I'll go with you. It's not safe for you to go with just a blaster," Din tore his head away and mounted the bike behind her. Briila tugged her brown cloak out from underneath him and nodded. The chest of his beskar's plate pressed to her back and once he was comfortable, she leaned into the bike and took off. 

"I can handle myself," she sniffed, leaving Mos Eisley behind for the sandy dunes nearby. Cresting a hill, she pushed the bike hard, flying over the edge. 

Din grabbed her as the bike slammed down. "What are you doing!? Are you trying to break it just outside the city?"

Briila laughed at him, her robes whipping around them. "I've been letting you pilot everything since my cruiser was speared. I've  _ missed  _ steering. Don't be such a baby."

"I'll remember not to let you drive the Crest," he grumbled in her ear. 

"Don't pretend like you didn't like that," she grinned wildly, feeling liberated in the wind and riding fast against the sand. "Flying a single person cruiser, I was able to go as freely as I wished. After all, I didn't survive on my own by being a conservative pilot."

"Clearly," he huffed, but there was amusement in his voice. "No wonder your droid is so weird, you must have jumbled up R8's programming by how madly you pilot."

"Hey, your flying on Maldo Kreis was no joke. Don't go hating on me when you flew that thing like it was a starfighter," she quipped.

"I needed to get away from the New Republic-"

"No transmitting beacon, something about New Republic Correctional Transport Bothan-Five?"

Djarin was silent for a minute. "You were listening?"

"I told you Grogu pulled me toward your ship, so yes, I was listening. When you disappeared, I used the Force to find Grogu," she answered, still smiling beneath the scarf. 

"You really don't understand boundaries, do you? Is that a Jedi thing or-" Briila revved the engine again and pushed the bike hard, cutting him off. He gripped her again until she flung them over another rise. She padded this fall with the Force, drawing a dazzled breath. Even if she said she hated the blasted planet, she had missed it. "Dammit, woman!"

She kept testing him, amused by his reactions, but eventually Djarin began to realize that this was all a game to her. Rather than give her the satisfaction of his disdain, he held onto her so tightly that his beskar was pressing into her sides, almost painfully. Instead of folding, Briila accepted the challenge, and continued to drive like an utter asshole.

Their journey brought them across the sands, encountering few souls. Despite it, she knew the land, it hadn't changed. Encountering Tusken Raiders, she had thought it would dissolve into a fight when Din proved he could speak their language. They joined their fires, accepting their meat, with her partner translating. This was the first time she'd ever had a positive encounter with them. The raiders had always been wary of Kenobi, afraid to tempt his rage, but that didn't mean they didn't witness the carnage and devastation they left. 

Her own image of them fluctuated, coming to understand that the nomadic tribes were surviving the way they had for thousands of years. The humans were intruders - stealing precious resources from them. Thus, their culture evolved into pillaging. While still not entirely convinced, the edge of her dislike was vanishing. 

The landscape shifted from sand, to rocky passes, and then flat desert plains. They zipped by Mos Pelgo and continued toward the mountains where she had once lived. With the years passed, she wondered if it would still be there - the hut. Finally, coming around a bend, she saw it, decrepit and abandoned. Slowing the bike down, she listed it to stare as they passed.

"What's this?" Din asked her.

"Where I grew up," she told him. 

"Not too bad of an area... For Tatooine."

The hut was shadowed by the chasm around it, providing much needed cover from the suns and privacy. Being so remote, few even knew of its location. Staring at a spot behind the back of the hut, she smiled remembering, "I fought a womp rat over there. Got this scar when it finally rounded on me-" she lifted her hand, removing the glove to show him the silvery mark. "I had a morbid fascination with the native fauna. Don't think they were too keen of me."

"Most of the fauna in Tatooine tries to kill the inhabitants three quarters of the time," Din reminded her warily.

"Oh, I know," she continued forward, turning the bike down a dead end.

* * *

Some more inspiration pictures

[Briila Jedi attire](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/de/c8/18/dec818fc51b105bb6ab59a9068124c97--costume-jedi-jedi-cosplay.jpg) |  [ Briila's hair ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/14/5c/32145cad9ea7a984008503fa8ea3498e.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I know that Obi-Wan technically lived in Jundland, which is north of where the Dune Sea is. For the purpose of continuity with some of the storyline, I made their home within the Dune Sea north of Mos Pelgo.


	6. Jetii'kad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving behind the echoes of the past, another prospect goads the Mandalorians into helping fight a krayt dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dash of spice and a bit of frustration. Enjoy :)

They had stopped at a dead end, Briila turning the bike off entirely, hopping off. He had thought they might go to the hut, but after reminiscing, they were here. 

"There a secret lever or something?" he joked, though his vocator didn’t quite catch the tone, before he dismounted the bike behind her. 

She didn't answer, pulling her scarf down to reveal her bright hair. Pushing her goggles up she lifted her hands. He stepped up beside her, watching her face strain in the same method when she had healed him. An answer didn't come until the wall in front of them groaned, sand and rubble falling, revealing a crack in the wall. A passage opened, darkness beckoning within the cave.

Briila swayed from the effort, only opening the path halfway before her hands dropped. Din grabbed her before she fell, holding her shoulder as she caught her breath. After a few minutes, she was able to stand on her own, glancing up toward her work in dismay. "I used to be able to open this with no issue,  _ everyday _ ," she told him, clearly disappointed in herself.

Din was still amazed. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Your magic seems to be like a muscle and you haven't been using it enough. It'll return," he assured her, hearing her sigh.

She led the way. He turned on his night vision, watching as she moved without a light. Maybe the Force was guiding her. Around him, he marveled at the training area they stood in. There were dismantled droids, targets, a work bench, and other objects that he didn't know the purpose of. Briila stopped in front of a locked chest, entering a combination swiftly. It hissed, old air escaping from the vacuum sealed container. Reaching in, she retrieved multiple relics, including robes that would not fit her. Chuckling, she turned something on, placing it on the ground.

It skittered along the floor, moving like a rodent. "I made a droid out of scraps that mimicked the womp rat. Obviously not as big, but Master Kenobi thought it was whimsical," she elaborated, bending back down to dig to the bottom. 

The little droid chittered over to him, bumping in repeatedly to his boot. He kicked it lightly, trying not to damage the item, as it seemed important to Briila. However, it wouldn't leave him alone. It sank metal fangs into the toes of his boot. This time he kicked it hard enough to send it flying across the room.

"Never got the programming right on that," she admitted, watching as the red eyes went dark. A swaddle was in her hands. Heading to the workbench to unfurl the cloth. Her gestures were slow and he wondered if this weapon was dangerous, requiring the careful touch of a Jedi's magic. However, she revealed a cylinder, banded with silver, the base a warm, polished leather with a blue button. Against the top was a beskar embellishment with beautiful filigree detailing. Watching her lift it, he wondered if it was a gun of some sort. He didn't know how else it could be used.

Briila turned it over in her hand fondly, thumb grazing the glowing button - the same hue as her eyes. Pressing it, a ghostly lavender blade extended from the top near the beskar detailing. Rotating her wrist, she spun the blade, which hummed with power. Sweeping a leg forward, she crouched, bringing one hand forward, rotating the shoulder that had the blade, back. She looked ahead, leveling her gaze toward the entrance, going through motions of forms for a martial arts he'd never seen before. Returning the blade in front of her, with slow deliverance, she sheathed the blade.

"What is that?"

"Jetii'kad - A lightsaber," she answered smoothly, her eyes closed as she exhaled deeply. "The 'secret' weapon of the Jedi. This is mine, I made it when I was 12. When I returned to the Kryze Clan, I left it with my master."

"And he kept it here for you to reclaim it," Din deduced, still rather taken with the mysterious style. She clipped the hilt to her obi and looked at him. "He knew you would return."

"Yes, my master was quite wise. More than I could ever hope to be," Briila grinned. "Come, no need to linger here."

"You're not taking anything else?" 

"No, take this back-" she tossed the blaster on her belt toward him.

He barely caught it, stowing it away as she strode out of the practice cave. Back in the dim light between the canyon walls, Briila strained to seal it again. Once she was done, she pressed her brow to the wall, panting. "We can camp here for the night," he offered. "Or back in the hut."

She shook her head. "I need to leave these things behind. Mos Pelso is not too far, we can stay there."

Extending a hand to her to help her, she looked at him haughtily before managing her own way back to the bike, wrapping her lovely face back up in the scarf. Without her beskar, he was growing rather fond of seeing her countenance and the faces she would make at the kid. Light-hearted, patient, though a bit wry, his fellow Mandalorian was growing on him. But since that day on the Crest, after she had spurned his advances, he'd resigned himself to admiring her features from behind his helm.

Only the damned scarf got in the way.

Briila revved the bike, indicating that she was ready to leave her past behind, and possibly him too if he didn't hurry. He mounted behind her, shuffling up the seat of the bike before gripping her. If he didn't, he was just as likely to lose his seat. During the days of riding, she hadn't given up on this game of making his stomach twist as she tested the sturdiness of the bike on multiple occasions. While he knew she could fix it, he wasn't keen on getting stranded in the middle of the desert.

Rounding the bike in the corner, she kicked them back between the canyons and toward the fading lights of the suns setting on the horizon. Leaning into her as she moved the bike dexterously, he admired her prowess in spite of her insistence to try and get underneath his skin. It had been a while since he had enjoyed himself, almost forgetting of the terror they had faced nearly two weeks ago on Nevarro.

What if the child was delivered safely? Would she join him on bounties and situations like this would fall into a steady rhythm?

In an hour, they were back at Mos Pelgo, a small outpost of a town, managing a few dingy moisture farms. With night having fallen, they approached the blue glow of the cantina, Briila pulling her scarf down so that it was just wrapped around her neck, cloak billowing around her as they entered.

They chose a table in the corner, away from the locals, who gave them strained and wary looks. Didn't seem as if they got travelers very often. Then again, who would even want to come out this far? Nothing was out here except for secrets and unfortunate souls.

The proprietor, a Weequay, looked in their direction, putting down a glass he was polishing. He hobbled over to them, braids swinging against his back. "What can I get ya?"

"Food for her," Din ordered. 

"And a snort of spotchka," Briila added.

Once the bartender had left, he turned to her. "You should drink water. You exerted a lot of energy."

"What, are you my dad now?" she snarked, curling her lips up tartly. "Afraid I'll become sloppy?"

"I'm  _ afraid  _ you're going to be dehydrated."

"I lived on Tatooine for 15 years. I know how to handle myself," she reminded him sternly, smiling at the Weequay as he returned with a glowing blue tankard. "Thank you."

Keenly aware at this point that the woman was stubborn and would do as she pleased, he settled back into his seat as she enjoyed her drink. Crossing his arms, he scanned the group, picking out a man on the other side of the bar talking to locals. He had a helmet tucked under his arm, faded with green paint-

"Beskar," Din hissed.

The proprietor spoke to the man, gesturing across the cantina toward them. Rather than approaching him, Din waited until the man went toward them. While his helmet was removed - Din was aware this was just indicative of a Mandalorian who did not necessarily follow the same path as him. However, as he sauntered up the table, from his mannerisms, he knew this man was no Mandalorian.

"Howdy," he was about their age, mid to late 30s. His hair was meticulously groomed, eyes lingering longer on Briila as he dazzled a white smile on her. "What brings you all the way to Mos Pelgo?"

"Where did you get that beskar?" Din evaded his question, asking with forceful insistence.

"Djarin!" Briila hissed, placing a hand on his arm, putting her drink down. "Just passing through. What my companion meant to ask, is where you acquired such armor."

He didn't like her chastising him, his own fingers reaching for his blaster, but the man seemed rather taken with her entreating smile. Grabbing a chair, he pulled it up. "You a real Mandalorian?" he asked Din, deducing by the armor. "Seems you've got some too. What's the symbol mean?"

"We're in the same clan," Briila answered smoothly, patting Din's arm before removing it. 

"Together then," the man deduced.

"Partners. Bounty hunters," Briila spoke easily. 

The man was suddenly not as deterred as he had been, much to Din's displeasure. "Name is Cobb Vanth, I'm the Marshal of Mos Pelgo. Man, a pair of Mandalorian bounty hunters. Never thought I'd see the likes of you... But I got the armor off of Jawas. Paid for it fair and square."

Briila grimaced, keenly aware of what was about to come from him. "That armor belongs to the Mandalorians. It should be returned to its people where it can be laid to rest," he demanded, feeling Briila step on his foot, trying to silence him.

"Hey, I understand you might call the shots where you come from, but I'm the one who tells the folks round here what to do," Vanth settled back disdainfully.

"Hand over the armor."

" _ Stop it _ . The both of you," Briila glared between them. "Look, that armor is by rights, Mandalorian. We are bound by our paths to see it returned to our people. However,  _ if  _ you paid for it, I can understand your reluctance to part with it without proper compensation. Is there an arrangement we may be able to come to, in exchange for the beskar you have?"

Din took a deep breath, steadying his emotions as Briila took the peacekeeper's path. He tried not to glare at her, but he doubted that this man would agree to such a trade. Beskar was expensive, who knew how much he'd paid for it. 

Cobb Vanth was still fluffed up, but after sparing another look at Briila, he simmered down. "I've been using this armor to protect this town from bandits and the sand people. _ I need it. _ It's the only thing standing between them and us. But..." he let out a long breath, again fixating on Briila. "We've had a much bigger problem than looters. A krayt dragon has been decimating our crops and livestock. It's only a matter of time before it starts picking off the residents. Haven't been able to fight it, but I do know where the den is. Say you can help me kill this thing - then maybe I'd consider parting with the armor."

Proposition dangling before them, he knew this was the more honorable path to choose. Had he reacted solely to his emotions, he would have shot a good man dead. Sighing, he nodded slowly. "We can arrange a deal then. The krayt dragon for the armor."

Briila was none too pleased about this, her fair cheeks paling considerably. "Nayc jate Munit Oya'karir." (Not a good idea.)

"Gar vaabir te ijaat goyust," (You picked the honorable path) he pointed out.

"A krayt dragon?!" she whispered fiercely.

"Everything alright over there? Lover's quarrel?" Vanth hadn't understood the majority of their exchange as they spoke in Mando'a. 

Briila gave a fierce grin, more akin to baring her teeth. "No, we agree to the terms."

"Wonderful," Cobb Vanth slapped his knee. "Hey, another round of spotchka over here-" he called the bartender. "We'll set out at first light tomorrow. I think I can settle some arrangements for the two of you to have a roof over your head for the night."

The proprietor returned and brought three more snorts. Briila took hers, giving him a tart look, none too pleased with the situation they had gotten themselves into. Din wasn't happy that she was drinking so much, especially just to spite his decision. Annoyed with her willfulness, he remembered when she wore full beskar and just deferred to his orders - ah those were the days.

Cobb Vanth began recounting how he had acquired the armor and the story how overnight the town had turned into a slave camp. The more he detailed his ordeal and trade with the Jawas, Din was glad he hadn't gunned down the man. Even in the most obscure places, people had stories to share. When the story ended, Vanth was a few drinks in, and Briila had also polished off Din's spotchka. 

"Did I ask you two if you were together already?" Vanth asked, furrowing his brows. 

"We work together," Briila confirmed.

"We're partners," Din added thinly, trying to ward off Vanth's obvious advances on the Jedi. Motto had mentioned that pretty things didn't last long on the sand, so seeing Briila was like encountering a rare desert ruby. He reached down, as if to prove a point, by resting a hand on the outside of her thigh for the man to observe. 

The moment Vanth turned away to talk to someone, Briila kicked him -  _ hard _ . Snatching his hand away, she glared at him defiantly, and he was aware that he was in for an earful once they were given their lodging. 

"Room is all set, might want to turn in, got a decent ride ahead of us," Cobb Vanth suggested, putting a hand up as Briila reached for her pocket. "Don't worry about the tab. It's on me."

They left the cantina, spared a room in a local's hut. It was small and dingy, a single full bed. Briila prowled toward the window and closed the shutters, rounding on him to level an ungodly glare on him. "What has gotten into you?" she snapped, keeping her voice low as not to disturb the people who lived there. "You were going to kill him! And then don't even get me started on your-... your unwarranted touching."

"He's wearing stolen beskar and was sizing you up," Din argued quietly.

" _ I  _ can handle myself. I didn't just wake up with this face, I've had it my whole life. Have I ever struck you as someone who falls for a handsome face? Trust me, if I wanted to sleep with him, I would. You do not control me, whether or not we are in the same clan, this is a partnership not a dictatorship."

Her words were sharp, but deserved, he had overstepped boundaries he shouldn't have. He had been keen on protecting her, in spite of the fact she had proven that she knew how to watch her own back. She had wandered the galaxy alone just like he had. "I was irritated and him staring at you like that did little to soothe me."

The tart expression began to loosen on her countenance. Uncrossing her arms, she shook her head at him. "Or were you jealous?" she asked perceptively, setting her bright eyes on him. 

Din did not answer her.

"We must be honest with one another if this partnership is going to work. I noticed that he was attracted to me, so I used it to our benefit. Does that bother you?" she continued insistently, but calmly now.

"Yes," he answered sharply, stepping toward her. In the tiny room, it only required a couple of long strides. 

She did not balk, turning her eyes up to defy him again. "Don't be."

He didn't know how to take those words, if she was implying beneath them. Given how she had reacted earlier, he assumed he shouldn't read into it. 

"Also," she stepped back him, sitting on the edge of the bed so that she could begin unlacing her knee high boots. "Why did you agree to help with the krayt dragon?"

Din sighed and sat on the edge beside her, beginning to undo his own boots. "It seemed reasonable."

" _ Reasonable _ ," she whirled her eyes on him. "The carnage he described is not from a normal krayt dragon. What he described was a  _ greater  _ krayt dragon. I remember there being one when I lived out here. Never bothered us, but wreaked havoc everywhere else. Those things are  _ massive _ ."

"Use your Jedi tricks on it then. That new weapon seems useful."

Briila gave him an exasperated look. "I'm the size of an ant when compared to a greater krayt dragon. Imagine my Jetii'kad, it's little more than a needle... and that's if I could manage to get on the dragon, which prefers to travel under the ground."

"Why didn't you speak up then?"

She threw another dirty glare at him, which made him smile beneath his helm. Ignoring his question, she removed her belt - the obi - and threw him a sardonic look. "Could you look away for a moment?"

Respecting her privacy, he turned away as she removed the outer layer of her blouse and breast bindings. Folding them, she placed them on the nearby nightstand, her lightsaber hilt sitting on top. When she indicated that he could turn back, she remained in her trousers and undershirt. This time, she noticed him staring at the curve of her breasts while she unbraided her hair.

Din looked away, working at his armor, feeling heat in his cheeks as he had to share a small room and bed with her. Until this point, camping out beneath the stars hadn't been half bad. A bed was a welcomed luxury, but it also put them both in an awkward position. Feeling his own frustration beginning to rise, he was taken aback as he felt fingers begin working the back of his jetpack, unstrapping it from his chestplate.

Briila kneeled on the bed, helping him take off his assembly of beskar. Rather than spurn her, he accepted her assistance, until he was only in his base layer that sat beneath his armor. Once she had finished, she flopped against the bed, her back to the center. Din spared one last glance at her, wondering if he'd have to spend another night sleeping in his helm. 

"Bree."

"Hm?"

"Could you cover your eyes with a piece of cloth or something?"

He expected to hear an irritated grumble, but she sat back up, rubbing her eyes. Nodding slowly, she went through her belongings, pulling out a blindfold - one that he didn't know she had. Smiling slightly, "I used to wear this for training drills with Master Kenobi. I figured it might come in handy with this... situation." She placed the black fabric against her eyes and tied the ribbon in the back. "Does it look good?"

Din leaned in, the inky fabric banded over her eyes brows, skimming her cheekbones. There were no gaps. This Master Kenobi must have designed it to be difficult to cheat. He already trusted her honor to not betray him, but this mask was just another method for her not to accidentally betray him. Without reigning himself in, he brushed his fingertips against her porcelain skin, grazing her cheek and jaw. 

"Din."

He drew away, removing his helmet, thankful for the air - even if it was dry desert air. Glancing back toward her, he wondered if she could see him with the Force. No... she seemed to be able to sense where he was, but she would have told him by now if she could see his face. 

Pushing up, intending on standing and moving to his side of the bed, he was startled when she grabbed him. Whether it was the spotchka speaking, he didn't know, but he savored the feeling of her lips to his - soft, warm, passionate. Since she had turned him away, he thought she was going to adhere to the philosophy of remaining objective to keep herself from straying to the Dark Side. Maybe she had realized that she was attached to the kid. The days leading up until now had been blissful in their own way. Between her constant teasing, testing his patience, they had grown closer - closer than they would have managed with Grogu around, but he had thought he had read her wrong.

He pushed her against the bed, watching as her slender form bounced against it. Her hair fanned around her, her chest heaving, nipples distinct against the fabric of her shirt. She tasted of spotchka, her mouth yielding. Bending down, he kissed her again, exploring the curve of her neck, moving a hand down toward her breasts. Briila moaned softly against his lips as he squeezed a soft breast, thumbing the nipple delicately. He’d thought of this before, imagined her beneath his grasp, how her mouth might feel. His head swam for a moment before he realized what he was doing. Briila had three drinks.

He broke away, panting as he fought to constrain himself. There was no denying that he wanted her, he'd known this since the night on Nevarro. But he couldn't do this now. Only when she was fully aware of her actions. Even if she claimed otherwise, it wasn't right to use this to his advantage. 

"Briila," he murmured, still straddling her. "We should go to sleep."

She considered it, perhaps she still had her wits about her, she seemed as if she had before this. "I suppose we really are  _ partners _ ," she jested softly, but there was a bit of disappointment in her voice.

Moving off of her, to lay beside her, he ran a hand down her curves, admiring her physique. She was lean, her stomach compact with a thin outline of abs. While she was smaller than Cara, she wasn't soft aside from her breasts. Briila was a warrior, be that Mandalorian or Jedi, and her arms were crisscrossed with silvery, faded scars. He watched her for a bit, past when she had fallen asleep, before turning in. With a blaster underneath his pillow, he brushed up against her, allowing himself to rest a hand on her hip.

* * *

Briila was vexed with herself come morning. While she hadn't been drunk, she had reacted to her baser instincts and her attraction to Din. Throughout the days, leading up to when she had walked through her past, she had contemplated her situation heavily. Grogu was attached to her and Din was beginning to reveal that he had feelings for her. They shared a clan, which did not mean they had to share a bed, but it was difficult to deny that she also felt bonded to him. Between refusing to leave him to his fate on Nevarro, to the adventure across the deserts of Tatooine, the months leading up until this point proved that Briila could not be the perfect Jedi she had wanted to be. 

_ Kenobi loved you as a daughter. He loved your aunt, Satine. Maybe he loved others before as well. It is not wrong or unnatural for you to have these feelings, _ Briila reasoned in her meditation. But what  _ did  _ it mean? What would she feel if Din was in danger? Would she be as insistent and forceful as she had been on Nevarro? Even then, she had managed to heal him, glaring through the haze to reach out to the Light Side. She need only trust in herself and maybe this would work. 

His actions the night before had proven that he was a good man. Even if the spotchka had not made her sloppy, it had helped give her the confidence to kiss him. They were going to have sex and Briila had wanted it, but Din reconsidered after a moment and denied her the pleasure. While she had felt rebuffed the night before, she saw his honor with clarity now.

"Bree-" he breathed, waking. She felt him stir behind her, sitting up abruptly as he noticed she was not laying beside him.

"I've had my blindfold on all morning," she assured him, breaking from her meditation. "Put your helm on and I'll help you with your beskar."

He was a bit perturbed, but she knew he trusted her. He got up, putting his helm on before indicating that it was safe for her to remove her blindfold. Standing, she turned to look at him, again gazing at the familiar silver beskar helm. Part of her wondered what he looked like, she hadn't been intrusive, respecting the fine line in his oaths as a foundling. However, she knew his hair was slightly curly.

Sitting on the bed, she began to fasten his chestplate on while he worked on his boots. "How well can you see with that blindfold on?" he asked her while they got ready.

"Not see - sense. I know that others are better at knowing exactly what they're looking at. Master Kenobi told me there were Jedi who were blind who could fight better than those who could see. However, my own talents have always been sensing rather than giving me clear images. For example, I know where things are, their shape, maybe even their feeling and texture, but it's nondescript," she explained, tightening the straps before she picked up his jetpack. 

"You cannot see my face then."

"No, I cannot. Not unless I focused a lot of my energy on seeing it, but I respect your oaths. Unless you wish for me to see it, I shall not force you or betray you," Briila swore, finishing working on his jetpack. 

"Do you remember last night?"

"Din, I was not drunk, I was aware of what I did," Briila said, standing up and cocking a rather wry look at him, hand on her hip. "I am thankful that you did not take advantage of me, though I must admit it's been a long time, so I might have been hasty."

"You mean to tell me that, you - a Jedi - committed adulterous acts?" he was teasing her now, though the vocator in his helm made him sound oddly emotionless.

"I wasn't a Jedi for nearly a decade," she reminded him with a thin pressed smile.

"Did you mean it?"

A chill went down her spine as she began dressing, this time she did not tell him to look away, sliding her breast bindings on and then her blouse. Heat touching her cheeks, she let out a low sigh. "Yes."

He stood watching as she drew her blouse on, securing it with the obi. His fingers ran through her hair, grasping a long copper lock. "Well, if we survive the krayt dragon, perhaps we can pick up where we left off."

Briila laughed at his forwardness, then again Din had never been subtle. Until this point, he'd only remained quiet when he didn't have an answer or was erring on his anger. By now, she knew he was incredibly perceptive for someone who wasn't Force sensitive, not to mention an impeccable warrior. He was all she had aspired to be when donning her beskar. But beneath that cool, bounty hunter exterior, she saw him for what he was - empathetic, intelligent, caring, and honorable. There were few men like him in the Outer Rim, let alone the entire galaxy. 

Although, he did have an impassive temper about him, which she loved to rile. 

They complimented one another, which had been evident last night in the cantina. Where he was pressed by his emotions, she had the clarity to draw him back to his focus. He might have shot Cobb Vanth had she not been there. Even if he was irritated with the man checking her out, Briila could tell that Vanth was just trying to protect his small flock. Stealing his armor would do nothing but give a bad name to the Mandalorians. They were scorned enough across the galaxy, there was no need to continue to bring the name hatefully to this small town.

"You were up early and didn't finish getting ready?" he complained to her chagrin.

"There's only so much I can accomplish while blind," she answered tersely.

"You're not looking at the back of the head while braiding your hair, are you?" Din pointed out.

"Maybe we won't pick up where we left off," Briila retorted crisply.

"Not anytime soon unless we have a bed and more privacy," Din agreed.

Briila didn't have a quip for him, retrieving her lightsaber as she finished braiding her hair out of her face, attaching it to her obi. She nearly bumped into Din as she went to grab her cloak, glancing up at him with bright and confident eyes. But before she could question him, he grabbed her arm and pressed his cool, beskar helm to her brow. Unlike last time, she closed her eyes and savored this moment, the calm before the storm. He touched a hand to her cheek, before she nodded at him, the two of them breaking away.

Morning was bright, as it always was in Tatooine. Now that they had been on the planet for a good amount of time, her eyes were adjusting back to the brightness two suns provided. Out on the sand, she found the Zephyr-J speeder bike and got it running as Vanth came out to meet them on his own contraption. Just one look and she knew it was made from a podracer engine, smiling at the remembrance of the few races that Kenobi had brought her to. Mostly, it had been to warn her of the dangers that the Hutts could be for Jedi, especially since they undoubtedly remembered the fallen order. Something about Jedi causing problems for their tiny empire on multiple occasions - though it wasn't as if the Hutts were entirely innocent, they were the ones that had imposed terrible water taxes on the locals to the point where they had to resort to selling black melons.

"Mornin'," Vanth greeted, giving them a look down. "Not traveling with any weapons?" he glanced toward her, not quite observing her lightsaber.

"Good morning. I've got a secret Mandalorian weapon," Briila told him, hearing Din snort behind her as he got onto the bike with her. Reaching up, she wrapped her scarf around her fair skin, as she had often when she was a kid. Fair skin blistered out here, even without a sandstorm kicking up. 

"Does he ever take the helmet off? I get hot wearing mine around, I can only imagine what it feels like in full armor," Vanth remarked, almost as if Din couldn't answer for himself - or maybe he preferred talking to Briila who was considerably more approachable. 

"The beskar you have appears to be much older. Some armorers are capable of crafting armor that has cooling properties," Briila explained vaguely, aware that Din wouldn't be happy if she betrayed the secrets of their people. 

"Alright, follow my lead, aside from krayt dragons, there are other fauna that aren't too fond of stragglers and make quick work of them," Cobb Vanth instructed, taking point as they left the town behind them.

Briila scowled beneath her scarf. "Looks like you're going to get a mellow ride today," she muttered to her partner. "Trust me, as long as we don't run into any Woodoos today, I think I'll be happy."

"Woodoos?" Vanth muttered. "You from round here?"

"Grew up about an hour north of Mos Pelgo. Left nearly a decade ago," Briila confirmed, mostly for her own benefit, so that Vanth would stop talking to her as if she were a frail, dainty thing that'd never seen as much as a urusai up close. 

"Lucky, right before things got real bad," Vanth admitted. "Don't recall ever meeting you though."

"Wouldn't have," was the only answer she gave. As a kid, she'd covered her hair outside the protection of their secluded hut and training cave. Her features had been too striking, notable amongst a population of more natural, earthy hair colors. To those that did see them, they were traveling peddlers or hermits - a father and his daughter - who kept away from civilization. Briila's talent in fixing things had helped earn rapport with neighbors.

They continued toward the canyons and mountains where she had lived, passing the path that would have led to the abandoned hut. Instead, they chose a wider divide in the mountains, sheer orange cliffs towering above them, perfect spots for a Tusken Raider ambush with how flat the cliffs were at the top. Keeping this thought to herself, she hoped that Vanth had gone this route often enough that he knew how to evade them. The Force hadn't warned her of anything.

The path narrowed, eventually only wide enough that they could barely ride side by side. Shadows moved along the edges and she felt a sensation, a warning, as stones began falling and canine-like creatures prowled from around a corner; massiffs. While reptilian, they moved in packs, a line of spikes running down their head and spines. Rough, armored hides made it difficult to kill them in one blaster shot, their large eyes set onto impressively wide maws that could tear an arm off without much effort. 

Vanth was reaching for his weapon as a few visible massiffs prowled forward - there were always more - but the forward group would assess the challenge before sending the rest of the pack to flank. Din dismounted the bike and spoke to the creatures in the coarse language of the Tuskens. Rather than attack, the lead massiff lifted its head and began to wag its rump excitedly, padding forward to force its snout into Din's outstretched hands. 

From around the corner, a handful of Tusken Raiders revealed themselves, confirming that these beasts were theirs and had been trained as sentry hounds. Din stood and entreated them. While neither she nor Vanth could understand, she was considerably more relaxed than their new companion.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Vanth asked her quietly.

"I don't speak Tusken," Briila shrugged. "Never got along with them."

Vanth grimaced, hand still resting on his blaster as he waited to see the outcome of the exchange. 

"They also want to kill the krayt dragon," Din revealed, turning halfway toward them. 

"No shit," Vanth cursed, sparing a look between everyone. "Alright, what do we got to do?"

"They've invited us to sit with them to go over a plan. They know a considerable amount about the dragons," Din elaborated. His words were good enough for her, but Cobb Vanth was not as fully convinced. He'd never seen a good side to the Tuskens as she had.

Grudgingly, Vanth agreed to go with them, the entire party escorted by the Tuskens to their nearby camp up on the ridge. Female Tuskens and children milled around, reminding her yet again that they were a civilization of their own and not just nasty pillagers. This was not the same tribe they had encountered on their way there, but Din's ability to speak their language and understand their culture had impressed them enough that there was no need to feel nervous in their company. Even the Force confirmed that the Tuskens were not necessarily malicious, but living their lives as they always had.

Nights on Tatooine could be cold, so they gathered around the bonfire as the Tuskens explained more about the krayt dragon to Din. Their guttural language brought forth some ugly memories, but she closed her eyes and tried to put aside her disdain. Vanth's wounds were fresher, haughtily glancing amongst the Tuskens, having never been this close to one without the intention of killing them.

While they conversed, a Tusken beside her offered her a black melon. The things stunk to holy hell and tasted just as unpleasant, but she knew their importance amongst the clan. Accepting it, she held back the grimace as she drank, watching wearily as Vanth was also offered one.

"Oh!" he recoiled from the smell. "What is that? How are you-"

"Drink it. Unless you wish to offend them," Briila muttered sharply.

"I'm not drinking that," Vanth said firmly.

"It would not be wise to offend our hosts, especially since they're upset with Mos Pelgo for stealing their water and not drinking it," Din broke in, turning his helm to glower at Vanth. 

It was too late, Vanth's refusal had been noted by the chieftain that was sitting beside Din. He spoke loudly, pointing toward Vanth angrily.

"What's it saying?" Vanth asked, becoming just as riled up when he heard him yelling.

"He's aware that you've killed several members of his clan during a raid," Din answered.

"Why were they raiding my town?! If they hadn't, I wouldn't have to blast them sky high!" Vanth retorted bitterly, standing up in unison with the chieftain. Their conversation broke up into belligerent shouting, barely discernible between what was being said, be it in common or Tusken. Briila noticed the other Tuskens were becoming on edge, watching the exchange, reaching for the weapons.

"Enough!" Flame blossomed between the two arguing as Din stood up, glaring at both of them. Finally, he turned toward the chieftain and spoke to him first, before rounding on Vanth. "If we continue to fight amongst ourselves, the monster will kill us. Let's focus on the killing of the krayt dragon."

Briila was impressed by his diplomacy, sitting quietly as she read the crowd. During this time, they learned that krayt dragons had ten legs and preferred to remain under the sand. Enticing it to expose its weak underbelly was going to be a challenge, but Din and the Tuskens seemed to have an idea of what would be best to get it out of the cave. Living in an abandoned sarlacc pit, the Tuskens would leave offerings to try and keep the dragon from eating their people. However, this didn't always work and it also cost a bantha each time - a necessary resource for both Tuskens and farmers that shouldn't be giving up so often.

They turned in for the evening, all sharing a joint tent with the Tuskens on bedrolls. While Din was comfortable amongst them, Briila still slept with her lightsaber in her hand, aware that Vanth was just as wary as her, refusing to remove his beskar. 

When morning came, they traveled to where the lair of the dragon was, an enormous pit at the mouth of a mountain. 

"It lives in there?" Vanth, for someone who knew where the lair was, hadn't actually gone to it before. "I've lived on Tatooine my whole life - and maybe Briila can attest to this - but there's no such thing as an abandoned sarlacc pit."

Briila grimaced. "There is if this is a greater krayt dragon and it ate the sarlacc."

" _ Greater _ krayt dragon?" Vanth hissed. 

"Have you ever seen it?" Din inquired as they sat on the crest, watching as a Tusken Raider brought forth a bantha to feed the dragon. 

"Well, no, it's always stayed in the sand," Vanth admitted. 

"Krayt dragons usually surface. If it's been attacking as often as you claim, then it's eating more often than even a large krayt dragon would," Briila explained, the raider down below bellowing into the mouth of the cave to attract the dragon from behind her macrobinoculars. 

"The Tuskens have been studying its digestive cycle for generations. If they feed the dragon, it sleeps for longer," Din translated from the Tusken beside him. 

The ground beneath them rumbled as the sand at the entrances billowed like a wave of water, sinking and then falling away as an enormous maw opened, skimming right by the bantha, and consuming the raider that had left it the gift. Even in their running, they hadn't been nearly quick enough to escape the dragon. 

"Well... it appears that they're open to new ideas," Din sighed, passing a look over to her.

"Rejorhaa'ir gar ibic nayc a jate kemir," (Told you this was not a good idea) Briila said to him with a tightlipped smile. A krayt dragon was one thing, she might have been able to help kill it with her saber, but now she would be next to useless.

While planning, the Tuskens were displaying a model that was vastly larger than what Vanth had originally anticipated. It was no surprise to Briila, having been warned to stay away from here by Kenobi a long time ago. Such an enormous creature would not have cropped up in the last 10 years - it had been there for centuries. Scattering rocks around the diorama entrance, it was clear that there were not nearly enough people to manage all the points. Din gestured again, speaking in Tusken, more stones suddenly cropping up around the entrance. 

"It's really that large?" Vanth hissed. "Where are those reinforcements coming from?"

"I volunteered your village," Din informed him plainly.

" _ What _ ?" the man glared at the Mandalorian. "Work with them?"

"You have a common enemy. The Tuskens are willing to work with you and forgive the past exchanges if you leave behind the carcass and ichor. They swear they shall not attack the town unless one of your townsfolk breaks the peace," Din explained, levying an offer that also meant that Vanth wouldn't necessarily require the assistance of the beskar any longer. 

Vanth considered it, his face going slack before he nodded. "Then if we succeed, I'll hand the armor over to you two. It's more than a fair enough trade - I shouldn't need it if we're not worried about the dragon and raiders," a sigh pressed between his lips. "Although, I'm a little sad to see it go."

Stepping aside while they gathered their belongings to return to Mos Pelgo, Din stood on the hill with Briila. "What do you feel?"

She considered the cave, reaching out with the Force. The sheer volume beneath the mountain made her flinch. "It's big," she managed finally, shuddering at the thought of having to face it within a few days. "Even with this plan, I'm not certain if it's going to run as perfectly as we hope. The creature is old, so it's more intelligent than Vanth is anticipating."

Din acknowledged her doubts. "Do you think that you'll be able to modify some of the bombs?"

"Maybe, depends what they've got laying around. Might not be as fancy as some of the equipment I've made for beskar, but I can manage to make something better than what originally was suggested," Briila admitted, running through her brain as she tried to consider what modifications she could make. "I can take point over supplies. People are going to die - this, I know."

"More people will die if the creature is not killed," Din pointed out.

"I'm aware," she grumbled, shoulders sagging slightly. While it was the right thing to do, Briila felt they were snuffing out the life of a primordial creature that had earned its place at the top of the food chain on Tatooine. Rolling her shoulders back she glanced toward their bike. "We should probably get back to Mos Pelgo, I expect the locals are not going to be pleased about having to work with the Tusken."

"It's in their best interest to do so."

Leaving the Tusken Raiders behind with a promise of returning in a few days they arrived at Mos Pelgo, which hadn't changed since their expedition. Waiting in the cantina for the town to be gathered, Briila could sense the disquiet, especially when gazing up at two strangers in beskar. Perhaps the fact that they couldn't see Din's face made them more nervous as Cobb Vanth finally joined them with the last of the townsfolk.

"Afternoon everyone. With me I have two Mandalorians, Mando and Briila-" Vanth gestured to them respectively. Eyes raked the both of them, suspicious and curious. Many of them had already taken notice of them on their first evening there, but now the entire town looked upon them. 

"I've heard the stories about them," the bartender admitted. 

"Then you know how good they are at killing," Vanth nodded before continuing. "Now, the Mandalorians have agreed to help us with the problem of the krayt dragon in exchange for this armor-" he tapped the faded green beskar. "They wish to return it to their ancestral owners and have offered to help slay the leviathan for the armor.

"Now, the dragon is much larger than we know, so we've spent the past few days meeting with the Sand People - and they've agreed to help us slay it."

Uproar broke out immediately, which Briila knew would happen. People hated the Tuskens, their wounds reopened annually when they would sweep in, steal, pillage, rape, kill... 

"Look!" Vanth interrupted. "The dragon is going to do a lot more than steal out banthas and wreck our crops. If it chose to, it could swallow the entire town and the longer it lives, the higher the risk we run of this happening."

Din stepped forward. "I speak for the Tusken Raiders. They are a brutal people, but they have lived in the Dune Sea for thousands of years. This is the only way they know how to live. However, the Tusken Raiders have given their word - and they will keep it. We have arranged a deal with them."

Quiet fell over the cantina as Din captured their rapt attention.

"If you help the Tuskens and leave the dragon's carcass and ichor, they have sworn to stand beside you in battle and not attack the town from henceforth - unless one of the townsfolk were to break the peace," Din finished, looking amongst the villagers.

Bowing their heads, the people considered it - getting rid of the krayt dragon and the Tuskens. Then, they could live in relative peace. Finally, after a little deliberation, the people agreed, then kicking off the preparations. Briila counted the amount of explosives, fiddling with the charges of a few. There wasn't much she could do, but at least she wired them to be deployed remotely. Focused with the task at hand, Briila didn't see much of Din as she handed out orders. 

Tuskens arrived the next day with banthas which the explosives were to be loaded onto. There was a cohesion she believed couldn't exist, finding herself looking on with opened eyes. She hadn't done this, Din had. Maybe she began the negotiations, but he had managed to arrange this temporary alliance. Briila's own disdain for the Tuskens polluted her objectiveness, but as Djarin had said, they were living in the way they had for thousands of years. 

With the entire town in tow, they returned to the krayt dragon's den, setting up charges in the sand where they would entice the dragon toward before detonating it. Unable to get too close without disturbing the beast, they erred as forward as they could, but it was still quite a way out of the cavern. 

"Keep me aware of what it's feeling," Din requested as a girl named Jo handed Vanth the master detonator that Briila had created. 

"It's the least I can do, I'm afraid I'm not well equipped to do much against this leviathan," Briila admitted albeit grudgingly.

"You've managed to make certain that all the appropriate supplies were requisitioned and here for this," Din reminded her, placing a gloved hand on her left pauldron. "Hopefully, this all goes according to plan, we can take the beskar, and return to the kid."

Briila nodded, wondering how Motto was handling Grogu. They had been gone for a while now and the original enjoyment she had from being beside Din was no longer the same. There was little privacy and both of them had been focused with the mission instead of each other. However, the fact that they could take a step back and acknowledge there were more important things than their emotions, bode well for Briila. At night, she meditated and practiced her forms. While she wouldn't be much use for this mission, that didn't mean she hadn't prepared herself mentally and physically. She may need to heal or defend people, she knew her place was not at the forefront as it might be for Din.

Resigning to her position, she stepped up with the folks of Mos Pelgo, who were growing on her. The people respected her and her knowledge of their culture and life. Some had come to realize she was also local, despite only having told Cobb Vanth. Maybe that was why they trusted Din more, aware that Briila had lived on Tatooine not too far from their town.

"What're you thinkin, Briila?" Gin, a man from the village, asked her as they watched the Tuskens prepare their ballistae. 

She couldn't be honest about her doubt, not when these people were putting everything on the line to slay it. "The plan should work. Man your position - I stand amongst you, I'll be certain you are safe," Briila promised.

Three Tuskens were approaching the cave, dangerously close. Raising their arms, they echoed their war cries into the pit - their voices reverberating throughout the den. Turning around, they began sprinting back toward the front line. The ground beneath Briila's feet began rumbling, she knew the dragon was coming, irritated by the shouting during its sleep. People were nervous, but remained where they were, the head emerging from the pit. Around her she felt their courage balking, astonished by the size of just its head. 

Briila remained calm, arms crossed as she put on a brave face for the villagers, her robes and hair whipping around her. The ballistae were fired, breaking through the thick, rock-like armor of the krayt dragon's hide. But the dragon was deterred, it was not the mindless beast that they had assumed and Briila had warned Din about this. It would not fight if it felt threatened. 

Tuskens were flailing with the ropes, hopelessly trying to pull the dragon back out. Settlers began throwing rocks and blasting it in the face with their guns. Quietly focusing, Briila closed her eyes and fixated on the ropes that were still tethered to the dragon. It was too massive for her to force out, but she could keep it for a few seconds. Gripping the ropes with the Force, Briila strained in effort, the villagers having now joined the Tuskens to try and pull the creature back out. 

One step back.

She released her pent up breath, staggering forward as her head spun. Taking a knee, her hand in the sand, she watched in horror as the dragon prowled forward and vomited its ichor, spilling it over the nearest humanoids. "Get beside me!" she shouted to the closest villagers, throwing her hands up as the ichor splattered above them. She shielded them, the vomit hissing against an invisible forcefield, preventing a dozen Mos Pelgo citizens from being burned by the acid.

She was even weaker now.

Gin, the villager, gripped her arm and tore her away from the front of the fight. Briila's head was aching, her muscles weak, as the man helped get her away - the sound of the bombs being detonated. "Sit here!" he told her fiercely, leaning her against the cliffside. "Thank you. Thank you so much," he turned back and started running back toward the curling smoke, but the krayt dragon was not where it should have been.

Up above, she saw the light of jetpack flames, Din and Vanth flying toward the site. Reaching into the pocket of her robe, she fumbled with a canteen, spilling water down her chin as she tried to catch her breath. The mountain exploded, the krayt dragon bursting out, injured, but furious. From up above on its plinth, it roared before turning out more acid. This time, Briila was too weak to attempt and shield the people down below. She could only watch on as they scattered like ants, trying to dodge the green bile. 

Lights flickered from the mountain where the two in beskar fought the dragon, forcing it back into the mountain and underground. Vanth's jetpack went haywire, sending him spiralling away from where Din was. Once he regained control of his pack he flew back toward Briila, landing beside her as he removed his helm, his normally neat hair awry and messy. 

"He told me to check on you... I don't believe my own eyes, but did you use some sort of forcefield?" Vanth asked, panting slightly.

"I did."

"Don't know much about Mandalorians, but I don't think that was a secret Mandalorian weapon," Vanth remarked smartly.

"No, it's not. I'm a Jedi," she saw no harm in telling him what she was, especially since she had betrayed herself at this point. "What is he doing?"

"Can't say, but I know he's fucking crazy," she didn't like to hear that coming from Vanth. 

"Take me down there to the wounded," Briila ordered, her own legs not working too well. "I can help them."

"You look like you're about to pass out," Vanth said, giving her a look over. 

"DO IT!" she demanded hotly.

Vanth balked, gripping her arm as he helped her down below where people were writhing in pain from either being hit by carnage or ichor. 

Din swept down in front of them as Briila knelt in front of a villager with a large gash in their leg. Her eyes caught the activation of the bantha's bombs, snagged in horror as Din continued to instigate the krayt dragon, drawing it nearer. She turned her head down, focusing on the Light Side of the Force, placing her hands on the man's raw, bloody leg. Closing her eyes, she tried not to think of Din as she mended the flesh, her hands glowing a pale green. 

"Shit!" Vanth hissed beside her, interrupting her focus.

Glancing up, she had only managed to heal half of the wound, but saw why he cursed. The krayt dragon had just swallowed both bantha  _ and  _ Djarin.

"No..." she breathed. "Bind his leg!" she ordered Vanth, standing up, lending herself to the Force as her legs churned beneath. This was her last energy - the energy that should have been used to heal the crying people around her. Drawing her saber, she unsheathed the blade and charged forward, without a plan. 

The dragon burst out of the ground again, opening its mouth in a mighty roar. Piling the Force in her legs, she intended to jump when she saw Din flying out of the mouth, glancing down as he detonated the explosives in the dragon. Its throat bubbled before exploding in a gory spectacle. Briila fell to her knees, Force slipping from her grasp as she sheathed her blade and panted in the sand. 

Cheers echoed behind her as the dragon fell to the ground with an earth shaking boom. Din jetpacked below, landing beside her, where she was sitting in the dirt. "You look terrible," he told her, smug with the victory over the dragon.

"Ha, and you're covered in ichor. Ah! Don't touch me-" he didn't listen, slinging her arm over his shoulders, helping her to her feet. "You're cleaning this later."

"I'll gladly help you take it off," Din retorted to her dismay, sounding rather impish through his modulator, but she laughed in spite of herself. "You did well. It would have retreated had you not bought us a few more seconds."

"I still have more to do. A lot of people are injured. There's still enough 'magic' in me to heal the worst of the wounds," Briila informed him.

"Don't overexert yourself," Din muttered.

"Don't tell me what to do," she grumbled petulantly.

Din only sighed and shook his head at her.

Up on the rise with the rest of the survivors, Briila began assessing the worst of the injuries. While she wasn't able to heal the worst of them fully, she did manage to clean and stem the bleeding so that bacta spray could be applied and these people - villagers and Tuskens alike - would survive. At this point, the other Tuskens had gone down to the dragon and were scavenging its enormous corpse. 

* * *

"This belongs to you now," Vanth handed the armor over to him, still looking down below at the carnage from the battle. "Thank you. Without your help we'd be dealing with this thing  _ and  _ the sand people. I don't think I'll really be needing it much now anyways."

Din accepted the beskar, tying it up to Zephyr. "Sorry for not telling you the whole plan. If I suggested it, I knew my partner would have tried to talk me out of it," he said to Vanth.

Vanth glanced in the direction of Briila, who was sitting amongst some of the Mol Pelgo villagers. She was resting, after healing the worst of the injured. A gentle smile touched her features as she spoke to them, but her face was lined with exhaustion. He knew the amount of energy she had expelled that day, between pulling the dragon back toward them, shielding some of the townsfolk, and then healing their wounds.

"Quite a partner you got there," Vanth admired. "A Jedi, she said. Haven't heard that name before, but whatever she is, she helped save many more lives. You're a lucky man."

Din chuckled. "You say that..."

"Even if she's got a mouth on her, I don't think I'd mind," Vanth clapped Din on the shoulder. "Don't be a stranger, Mando. If you or Briila are ever around again, you'd be honored guests in Mos Pelgo."

"Thank you. Farewell," he ducked away, approaching Briila who was saying her goodbyes to the folks sitting around her. She forced herself up, pushing off her knee to stagger weakly a few steps. Din caught her. "I suppose I'm driving now."

"Fine, just because I've expelled too much energy," Briila conceded, lids fluttering. Considering how tired she was, he didn't feel comfortable having her ride behind him. She was likely to slip off if she fell asleep. Setting her in front of him, he kicked the bike into gear and felt her slump forward immediately.

"Briila," he muttered.

She didn't answer.

He hadn't seen her this tired from using her Force magic before, but he settled her scarf around her head before sending the bike forward and away from the krayt dragon's body. The kid would fall asleep after using an exceptional amount of his abilities and Briila had pushed herself past the point where she couldn't stand. He admired that strength in her, though he was a bit worried. 

Riding through the rest of the day, he found an outcropping for them to camp out at. Again, he tried to rouse Briila, only to find that she was still asleep. They had been riding for hours, he thought she might wake up, but instead she was unresponsive. Before he had been worried, now he felt himself beginning to panic as no matter of calling her name or gently shaking her would wake her up. She remained serene, her face devoid of any emotion, her chest rising and falling slowly. 

Briila had never warned him what might happen if she expended too much energy, he just hoped she'd wake up eventually. He tried to ease water down her throat, but she wouldn't open her mouth. 

The next day wasn't any better, the Jedi remained in her comatose state. He found himself riding between nights, refusing to go to sleep, as he only wanted to get back to the kid and maybe seek medical attention if Briila didn't wake up. He expected she would become dehydrated, but she was a perfect picture of a sleeping beauty. Maybe her magic protected her, putting her in a stasis after expending so much energy, but since he could only make hypotheses, he paced around the few camps he did set up.

Finally, he returned to Mos Eisley with Briila's unconscious form still on the bike as he pulled into hangar 3-5. Motto swaggered out, holding the child who was in good health. He perked up immediately, letting out an excited coo, waving his arms as he spotted them both. 

Din dismounted, picking Briila up gently.

The smile fell off of Peli's face. "Is she alright?"

"I don't know," Din admitted, frustration leaking into his tone. "Do you know anything about Jedi?"

"Jedi?" Motto's eyes widened. "She's..." the woman then cursed beneath her breath. "Get her inside."

Din went inside of Peli's home, laying Briila down on a nearby couch as Motto began preparing tea. He sat down at the table not too far from her, placing his helm in his hands, expelling a low, weary breath. 

"So your friend is a Jedi? She looks a bit young to have survived the fall of the Old Republic," Peli observed, putting the kettle on. 

"You know of them?"

"Sure, I knew a couple of them, specifically an exile who lived out here."

"Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Din hoped.

Motto glanced at him. "You know him?"

"He was her master... Do you know anything else about them?"

"No, afraid not, aside the fact that they're like magic monks. But don't go telling everyone what she is, there are still some who recognize a lightsaber. They were hunted to near extinction before Kenobi left with a boy... You say that she was his student? Must've been right before he left with Skywalker."

"Briila told me she grew up here. We traveled to her old home to retrieve her saber. Ran into some trouble and had to help a village slay a greater krayt dragon," Din explained briefly.

"A greater krayt dragon?" she arched a brow at him. "Don't make it sound so easy! Damn, you didn't happen to bring some of the meat along with you?"

"It's trussed up to the back of the bike... She's been in this state since we left. I can't wake her."

Motto stepped around the counter, bending over Briila to inspect her features. "Jedi are mysterious. What happened to make her like this?"

"She expended a lot of energy. She managed to hold the dragon in place for a few seconds with her magic before shielding people and healing them."

"Must be some sort of reparative meditation," Motto theorized. 

"But it's been  _ days _ ."

Grogu let out a whimper. Motto picked him up and brought him over to Briila, setting the tyke on her chest. The child reached forward, pressing his hands to her cheeks, concentrating. There were a few terse moments before Briila gasped, snapping her eyes open, looking around. Grogu sagged against her, blinking dazedly, before bleating happily.

"Briila!" Din stood up, rushing to her side to grip her hand.

"Mother of a bantha-" Briila moaned, touching a hand to her head. "How long was I out?"

"Five days," Din told her.

She glanced at him, her brilliant eyes focusing to the dimness of the room. "I should have warned you," she managed a cheeky smile. "Borrowing too much power from the Force can do that and I went  _ way  _ past what I should have. Just as we get weak from managing a large feat from the Force, trying to pull more than one feat - it forces out bodies into meditation. Probably gave you a bit of a fright."

"A bit?" he grumbled.

"I might have been out longer if Grogu didn't reach out to me," Briila admitted, reaching up to brush the child's head. "He lended me the last bit of energy I needed to recenter myself."

"Do Jedi do that often?"

"Oh no, Jedi usually don't. Seeing as they'll be unconscious for days, it's incredibly dangerous to that. I figured I'd be fine with you watching my back."

Din pursed his lips, irritated with her decision, but she had saved many people from dying. "Warn me next time," he finally told her, glad that she was awake again and the kid was safe. 

Motto returned with the chunk of krayt dragon, opening the wrapping to lick her lips with anticipation. "You guys staying a bit longer? I'll roast this up."

* * *

[Briila’s lightsaber](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/df/ab/7e/dfab7ec14da479f6040ee20985648284.jpg)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said 1 to 2 updates a week and here I am the 3rd day in a row. T_T


	7. The History Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make their way to Coruscant to find out where the Jedi, Ahsoka, can be found. However, rather than that - Din discovers Briila's history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another dash o' spice for you and some feels.

They were back on the Razor Crest with their destination set for Coruscant. Briila felt refreshed from her nearly week long meditation, though she did feel a bit guilty that Din hadn't understood what was going on. Having only pushed herself to that point once before, she knew it was likely frightening to those who didn't understand the Force. She began working with Grogu again, surprised by how much she had missed the kid. By this point she had come to the realization that she had tethered herself to both him and Din. 

The child saw them as parents, which had been what she had been hoping to avoid, but Din had long been the boy's father even before she had arrived. 

Coruscant was a good distance away, being a Core Planet. Creating a schedule for the pair of them, they used the blindfold to begin testing Grogu's ability to see with the Force rather than with his eyes. It seems he had gone through some of this practice during his time at the Temple. Taking him only a couple of days to get back into the groove, Briila was aware that she should get him a practice saber and craft a weak blaster droid. Drafting up a list for once they got to Coruscant, she knew there was a lengthy list of parts she needed. She'd have to withdraw some of her stash of credits in order to acquire some of the more rare items. The kid wasn't close to forging his saber, that probably wouldn't happen for years, but the thought of trying to find the crystals was a daunting task. 

Kenobi had mentioned how difficult it was to find a kyber crystal for her own saber without attracting the attention of the Empire, as they had seized control of the few mines. She wondered what the mines were being used for now, as she didn't often travel to planets that had been dangerous territory when she was a padawan. The Outer Rim had provided her with the ability to hide the most.

Setting Grogu down in his pram for a nap, Briila trotted up the ladder and joined Din in the cockpit. Since leaving Tatooine, he had let her fall back into a training rhythm with Grogu, keeping mostly to himself and surprisingly, R8, who was also in the cockpit, fiddling around. She sat down in the copilot seat, stretching out her legs. 

"Who's this contact you have in Coruscant?" Din asked her. "Do you trust them?"

"Yes, with my life," Briila answered. "He works at the University of Coruscant."

"A professor?" Din mutterd, slightly puzzled.

"Among other things. He's Mandalorian, we can trust him."

"Good," Din nodded, turning away from the controls to face her. "If the lead he gives us ends up bringing us to where the child will be staying..."

Briila sat back, glancing toward him. "Our quest ends," and so did the oath that bound her to see this through. 

"Do you have any plans after?"

"No." 

They sat in silence, staring out the dash, toward the streaming stars as they moved through hyperspace. Since their exchange on Tatooine, she had been wondering what she was going to do. With each passing day, she expected they were getting closer to the end of their quest. The child would be safer with someone who would age with him. While she could be his mentor now, she knew that due to the slow nature of his maturing, she would slip past Obi-Wan's age and still have Grogu as a padawan. There were ways to preserve yourself, to not age with the assistance of the Force, but she did not wish to do that. One lifetime was enough for her.

While she may call herself a Jedi, she knew she walked a strange path. Between the paths of Light and Dark, this meant she was technically a Grey Jedi. Yet, the call of the Light had always been strong in her, but would it remain strong? With nowhere to go, no central location, Briila was beginning to accept that she might err toward the bounty hunter occupation and remain with Din. It wasn't because it was her only choice, but because she had liked helping people beside him.

"I'm going to go shower," Din broke in finally, shattering the silence between them. 

Briila settled back into her seat, letting out a low sigh. Back on the Zephyr bike, messing around with him had been easier, more free. Now, placing the mission on their plates once again, she felt a bit perplexed. Eventually, she stood up and climbed down the ladder, going through her belongings as she considered what she should do. Once they were on Coruscant, she had more plans than just meeting with her contact. She wanted to stop by the fallen Jedi Temple and make an attempt at acquiring more information from the archives. 

Turning the blindfold over in her hands, she shoved it back into her bag, swallowing the bit of frustration she had. Part of her wished that she could just act on a whim, but between needing to respect Din's rule with his helmet and fear of waking the child, there felt like few opportunities where they might be intimate. _ If you hadn't fallen into meditation after the krayt dragon, there might have been time,  _ she nagged herself, flopping down on her cot, closing her eyes.

Briila fell asleep for a while, only stirring when she felt a hand in her hair. 

"Mm," rolling over, she opened her eyes, glancing up at Din. "Good morning."

"I'll leave you be if you're tired," he muttered, letting her hair slip between his tanned fingers. 

Briila glanced in the direction of the pram. Grogu was still dozing. "No..." she drawled. "I'm not that tired."

Understanding her words, Din stood up and began walking toward his bunk. Briila turned over, her heart in her throat, as she reached into her bag and pulled out the blindfold. She removed her robe blouse, leaving it on her cot, before she padded across the ship. Each step shortened her breath. She wasn't coy, but just thinking about what was about to happen was intoxicating. It'd been years.

Sitting on the edge of the bunk, where the door opened, she moved her hands up to secure the blindfold over her eyes. Din shifted behind her, running his hands along her shoulders, moving her hair out of the way. She shuddered against the touch of his calloused palms, chest rising as she moved further back into the bunk, the doors sliding shut with a huff. 

The bed was considerably more comfortable than the cot, but there wasn't a lot of room - it was intended for one person. She could sense him aside from where the weight was distributed on the mattress as he removed his helm and tugged her back. Falling against the blankets, a small breath escaped her lips, before he kissed her. She ran her hands along his arms, then shoulders, pleased to find that he had removed his top. She could feel his corded muscle beneath her palms, gasping slightly between his mouth to catch her breath. 

The stubble on his face scratched around her mouth, his fingers tangling in her long hair as he pressed up against her, only her palm on his chest separating them. He bit her lower lip, causing her to cry out, a smile turning up her mouth as he slipped his tongue in. She twisted a hand up past his shoulder and into his hair. He worked at her undershirt, forcing it up as he ran a hand along her breasts, squeezing gently before he broke away from her lips. 

Taking her nipple in his mouth, Briila moaned, back arching slightly, his kisses and bites burning her. She moved to take the shirt off completely, nearly getting it turned up in her hair, groaning a bit louder than she had meant to. 

" _ Din _ ."

His lips curved against her stomach. She reached for him, trying to grab his hair, but he moved out of the way. A bit of frustration caught her as he teased her, staying just out of her grasp. Finally, rather than let him succeed, she pulled him forward with the Force, bringing him back to put her lips on his. 

"That's cheating," he muttered against her mouth. 

"I'm blindfolded, you were playing dirty," Briila retorted, pushing him against the wall so that she could straddle him. She nipped his ear, planting kisses down his throat, trailing her hands down his chest, against his abs, to his belt-

The child cried.

Din groaned, disappointment welling her too as they both listened for a minute. Would he just go back to sleep? She could feel him through his trousers, pressed up against her inner thigh. Turning back to him after a moment, Briila continued to work the buckle.

Grogu protested again.

She dropped her hands and pressed her forehead to Din's. "I'll go," she told him, reaching for her shirt, slipping it back over her head. Climbing off of him, she moved her hand up to the door controls, opening it. Stepping out, she closed it again before she removed her blindfold. Grogu was fidgeting over the edge of his pram, eyes widening as she approached. He gurgled. "Hello to you too, youngling. I wish you would have slept for just a while longer," she told him, with a tight smile. Her skin was hot, between her legs warm and longing. Lifting him out of the pram, she resigned herself to the fact that they knew this might happen.

The door opened behind her and Din was fully dressed - save for his beskar - and had his helm back on. He approached the two, sliding a hand at the small of her back, pressing his helm to the side of her head. She heard him sigh heavily in her ear, clearly just as flustered as she was. "Couldn't have slept a little longer, kid?" he grumbled, but reached forward and ran a finger along Grogu's ear. 

Briila smiled. "Maybe we woke him up," she suggested devilishly.

"You weren't that loud," Din informed her, his hand still against her as he leaned into her. "You don't have to sleep on that cot anymore. It's probably not the most comfortable."

"Is that a good idea?" Briila grinned. "All three of us sleeping in the same room? When are you ever going to take your helmet off?"

"I don't know," he grumbled, she could hear the straining in his tone. The entire ordeal was probably considerably more vexing for him than her. "I don't care."

"I don't know if I can trust you not to be naughty when he's around," Briila remarked. "Maybe we need a bigger ship."

"Do  _ you  _ have enough credits to buy a larger ship without a beacon attached to it?" Din pointed out.

"I can always remove a beacon," Briila reminded him. "Just a thought, not a necessity. We don't know how much longer we're going to have him."

"The Razor Crest is fine," Din argued lightly. "I'm just growing impatient." His fingers dug into her side as he pulled her closer to him. 

Briila swallowed hard, exhaling a deep breath. "Maybe on Coruscant-"

"That's  _ days  _ away."

"Mm, maybe you should learn to have some patience," Briila purred, pulling away from him to take Grogu aside so she could get food for him. "How did you survive before we met?"

"I didn't have a woman on the ship with me," Din pointed out.

She bent down, pulling out the rations they had. Grogu was clearly disappointed by what she offered him, but there hadn't been a lot to stock up on during their trip to Tatooine. Not unless he wanted some black melons. "So every time you have a woman on the ship you get this impatient?" she poked.

"No," she could feel his gaze burning her from beneath his mask.

"Is this a relationship of circumstance then?"

"No, Briila," he was growing annoyed with her now.

Smiling slightly, she sat down to help Grogu eat. "Then we can suffer a bit longer, together," she decided not to test him much further. "Ah, chew that first!" she chastised the child as he reached for another mouthful. 

Din retreated to the head, perhaps finishing what they had begun. She didn't know, she left him to his privacy while she tended to Grogu. Part of her wondered if he had purposely interrupted them, usually he slept longer than that. Despite being annoyed herself, she tried not to place that bitterness on the boy. 

"The bed does sound nicer than the cot," Briila admitted to the child. "You're probably missing your hammock right about now. Aren't you?"

Grogu nodded. 

* * *

He pressed his head against the shower wall, heart still pounding. He wasn't mad at the kid, this came with the territory, he only wished he wasn't so embittered by it all. Without Grogu he wouldn't have met Briila. Now, because of Grogu, they barely had a chance to be intimate. When he closed his eyes, he could only see her half naked body pressed up against him, her fair milky skin, her full lips parted in a moan. He had enjoyed himself for those few minutes, savoring them as his hardness still refused to fade. 

Briila had more patience than him, more benevolence than he could ever hope to possess. She took the high road, fetching the kid rather than staying in bed with him. Part of him had wanted to just let the kid cry, but it was the wrong thing to do. Now, twice, he'd been cucked from the fire haired enchantress just on the other side of the thin wall. And as much as he enjoyed the time with her, there was one thing that he hadn't felt with others he'd slept with. He wanted to see her eyes.

Those vibrant, blue-green eyes, like a tropical ocean's waters. The manner in which they'd go half lidded or flutter, her long copper lashes... but he was bound by his Creed. She wore the blindfold out of respect. She was Mandalorian, would revealing his face to another Mandalorian be such a crime?

_ She was born on Mandalore. I am a foundling,  _ he reminded himself, shivering as he ran his fingers along his length, remembering the feeling of her pelvis pressed against him as she worked at his belt. 

Battling with his emotions and oaths, Din knew that she wouldn't be happy if he wore his helmet when they made love - or tried to. Just straying too far from her lips had made her pull him back up with the Force. It had startled him, the raw power that crushed him back toward her, but... he had liked it. A woman who knew what she wanted and would take it from him after enough teasing. 

A shiver went down his spine as his back arched slightly, spending himself, imagining what it would have been like inside of her. Sighing, he caught his breath before cleaning up. Coruscant might offer them lodgings that would make it possible for them to finally be intimate, but it didn't assure anything. Just looking at her around the ship half the time had him thinking of what she looked beneath her clothing. Maybe it was because there wasn't much to do on the ship during hyperspace that his thoughts wandered.

Exiting the head, he glanced to where Briila and Grogu were playing a game of Force catch. She glanced toward him, offering a smile, before tossing the ball back toward Grogu. He wanted to kiss her, to be able to do it whenever he had the impulse to, but it was impossible with the kid looking on. Returning to the cockpit, he lounged in his chair, checking the timeline again as if it might've changed much.

R8 booped at him, acknowledging his presence. The droid was growing on him, as much as he hated to admit it. "Notice anything?" he asked R8.

The astromech let out a series of chirps that he didn't understand. Given the timbre and pitches, Din just assumed it meant no. R8 swiveled back and then expelled a loud, "WeeeeoOOOW."

Sitting up abruptly, Din glanced at the controls for what it might have been such a big deal. Then the droid chirped again, almost like a laugh.

"Are you... messing with me?" Din realized.

R8 booped again.

"Caraya's soul, you really are your master's droid."

* * *

Eventually, they arrived at Coruscant. There hadn't been any opportunity for them to have another moment together or rather - they hadn't dared for fear of being interrupted again. However, Briila did take to staying in his cabin, mentioning how the bed was much more comfortable. He enjoyed her closeness as she slept against him, her head resting on his shoulder as they were cramped together. 

He hadn't been to Coruscant in a while, the darkness of night barely there between all of the blazing city lights. On landing pad H-475, he left the Razor Crest behind. Briila had tucked her lightsaber into the pocket of her robe, not displaying it for the public to see. Din held the kid in a satchel against his hip, glancing over toward his partner for guidance on where they needed to go. 

The University of Coruscant was an enormous building with dozens of floors. A flagstone courtyard in front of the structure was remarkably done and held a clear amount of space that wasn't common in Coruscant. Students were out, even at this time, sitting on benches and milling around with one another. Sets of eyes followed them as they walked up the stairs of the main university building. Within, the ceilings of the first floor towered above them, beautiful molted marble columns holding it up. 

Briila approached one of the many receptionists desks, a Twi-lek glancing up with mild disdain as they approached. "Hello, can you please page Professor Kryze?" she requested.

The blue female Twi-lek twirled a finger on the end of her lekku. "It's late. Come back tomorrow."

"Professor Kryze lives on campus. I know you can page him," Briila retorted smoothly.

"Come back tomorrow."

Briila tensed, but smiled thinly. Lifting a hand, she swept it in front of the receptionist. "You're going to call Professor Kryze and inform him that his niece is here."

The receptionist was now picking up the phone. "I'm going to call Professor Kryze and tell him his niece is here," she agreed abruptly, dialing the proper number on the comm system.

Din glanced over at her with astonishment. "Did you-"

Briila waved him away.

"Yes, Professor Kryze, you have a visitor here who claims to be your niece-" the receptionist reported, pulling her headset mic closer. "Ok... Alright... Very well." She ended the call and glanced up, her eyes slightly hazier than Din remembered. "A 3PO protocol droid will be down in a moment to escort you to Professor Kryze."

They were waiting for only a few minutes before a blue and gold 3PO droid hobbled down the hallway, noticing them, it made an almost "ah" sound before approaching. "Hello, my name is F-3PO, please come right this way," the droid entreated, turning around to continue from whence it came.

Down the magnificent halls, Din leaned toward Briila. "You didn't tell me this was family," he muttered.

"You didn't ask," she shrugged nonchalantly. 

He didn't, but he also assumed she would have been more descriptive than just it being a Mandalorian professor. F-3PO led them to an elevator, unlocking it, before motioning for them to enter first. Closing the elevator, it engaged the elevator, inputting a location that was not accessible by the main directory. 

"Your uncle then? I thought you left the Kryze Clan," Din continued.

"I did. As did my uncle. He has been working here since the fall of the Empire," Briila elaborated. "He never got along with my mother, so he never made any attempt to reach back out to her."

Wondering what kind of family mess he was walking in on, Din glanced out the window as they zipped up high over the city. Finally, the protocol droid stopped the elevator and they stepped into the den of an apartment. There was no door. A man well into his 60s was leaning over a manuscript, brows furrowed as he read. Dressed in only his pajamas and a robe, he glanced up with sharp blue eyes - the same eyes as Briila.

"You might have warned me you were coming," the professor greeted with a frown. "And who's this? I thought you were done with Mandalorians."

Din followed Briila who ignored her uncle's fussing and embraced him. A part of him felt jealous that Briila had family to share such an experience, but he resigned himself as Briila grinned wickedly. "This is..." she paused, asking silently for his permission, he nodded. "Din Djarin."

Professor Kryze glanced between them, his eyes catching the glint of her beskar pauldrons. "You are in the same clan," he announced perceptively. "I did not believe you would join another clan after what you had been through with your mother."

"Yeah, 'mother'," she snorted. 

"Oh! Who is this?" the old man asked, craning down to inspect the child.

"That is Grogu, a child who survived Order 66 and Anakin Skywalker's purge of the Jedi Temple," Briila answered crisply. "We are trying to find a proper home for him."

"I see," he stood up. "I see that you have also shed your beskar. Does that mean you considered my words carefully?"

"With the coercion of another as well," Briila's eyes flickered toward Din.

"Come, sit, take off your helm. Please, I insist. F-3PO, please brew us up some tea," Professor Kryze motioned for them to follow him to a beautifully polished wood table with velvet cushioned chairs. 

"Uncle, Din is amongst the Children of the Watch," Briila told him delicately.

Din expected a bit of scorn, but the man only observed him quietly. "Right then - one less tea, F-3PO."

Sitting around the table, Din let Grogu out of the satchel to toddle around the large and impressive penthouse apartment. 

"Forgive me, where are my manners. I am Korkie Kryze, professor of Mandalorian history and record for the university," the man introduced, cleaning off his spectacles against his robe. "I hope my niece hasn't been too much of a bother to you. She's quite a willful child."

Din smiled beneath his mask. "She's been... fine."

Briila rolled her eyes at him. "Uncle, we're here because we need to know where one of your contacts is."

"Which one?" Korkie asked, nodding his head thankfully to F-3PO as it delivered him a steaming hot cup of tea.

"The Jedi, Ahsoka."

Korkie paused, setting the creamer down to stare openly at his niece. "I may know where she last was, but if you're thinking of bringing the child to her... There are better places than an exiled Jedi."

"Are there?" 

"There was a Jedi Master of the same race as the child. I do not know the race off the top of my head, but through my research in the Archives, I have glossed over it. Give me enough time and I'll be able to provide you with that information," Korkie elaborated. "Ahsoka is dealing with her own path, I do not think it wise for you two to meet again, especially under these circumstances."

"Circumstances?" Din echoed, wondering just what Briila might have done to spurn another Jedi.

Briila's face became impassive and she clutched her fingers, balling them into fists. 

"Have you not told him?" Korkie deduced calmly.

"No, I have not recounted my years amongst Clan Kryze and personally, I would prefer not to," Briila snapped. She was angry. Din had never seen this side of her, not true anger. But it lined her face now, her jaw locking as she glared at her uncle.

"It is important that while traveling the galaxy with someone, especially another Mandalorian, that you tell them of this. Briila-" Korkie pressed gently, but she flew up from her chair.

"Tell him. I don't want to be in the room to hear any of it!" 

Briila stormed away, slamming a bedroom door behind her, silence falling over the apartment aside from the creaking and humming from F-3PO. Din sat back, blinking, as he tried to understand what had just happened. 

"So," Korkie cleared his throat. "How much do you know about my niece?"

Din glanced toward the old man. "I know that she was trained by a Jedi Master named Obi-Wan Kenobi, that they lived on Tatooine... That she thinks of him as her father. I met her on Kreis Moldo-" he recounted their meeting and eventually the history he did know of her. To be fair, he hadn't shared much of his own life with her, so he didn't ply the subject more than he thought reasonable. "We came here right from Tatooine."

"Hm," Korkie sat back in his chair. "Then she has not shared with you the most tumultuous part of her life. You see, Briila was always supposed to come back to the clan. Kenobi never wanted it, he wished for her to walk the path of a Jedi, but Bo-Katan, her mother, saw the promise of Tarre Vizsla before her. She took Briila back amongst the clan, at 25 years old mind you, and tried to force her to be Mandalorian. Now, the beskar might have fit, but you can imagine the amount of push back Bo-Katan received from giving Briila her beskar without her having earned it piece by piece. I expect you would feel much the same knowing a Mandalorian wearing beskar they did not earn."

He had, which was why he told her not to wear it if it felt heavy. Although, he hadn't realized how close to home he'd struck.

"Briila tried, but she's always been a Jedi at heart, and it always called to her. While she made friends, she earned herself just as many enemies amongst our own people. They took to calling her The Pretender. In spite of it, Briila made a valiant effort to push forward and try to earn the trust of her fellows. She fell in love with a Mandalorian by the name of Cenx Kidus. His clan accepted her with open arms, as opposed to Clan Kryze. She spent a good amount of time amongst them, until Bo-Katan requested their assistance for an infiltration on an Imperial Tector-class Star Destroyer. This was right after the Empire fell, but there were still Destroyers trying to make their own last stands. 

"Transmissions were intercepted, and their team was Made, the one Briila was on - the team with Clan Kidus," Din understood where this was going now as Korkie drew a shaky breath. "They were eliminated, though Briila managed to escape on a pod with Cenx. Not that it mattered, he had been grievously wounded and died in her arms. She landed on Moraband.

"Now, it is unlikely that you know much about this planet other than that it is cursed. But to a Jedi, this planet is absolute evil. It is desolate, abandoned, and the resting places of Sith and their temples. They were enemies of the Jedi, those that utilize the Dark Side of the Force. Briila was stranded on Moraband for a year, in which she was expected to be dead. She will not even tell me what happened on Moraband, but I can expect that she found the Sith Temples and faced many temptations from the Dark Side. She should have succumbed to it. She should not be here today... But she found enough resources to build a ship from scratch and fly off the planet. 

"Briila came to me afterward. While she had not turned to the Dark, I knew that her head was in the wrong place. She was harrowed, a shell of her former self. It was at this point that I suggested she return to her Jedi teachings and find her way. Once she had recovered, she began working as a New Republic bounty hunter. It was enough to keep her distracted, to put her foot forward and try and recover from everything she'd dealt with until this point. But Bo-Katan found out about her survival and came to me. Unwittingly, I called Briila back into a trap. You can expect she wasn't too happy to see her mother's face, since it had been her mother's transmissions that had killed Clan Kidus and Cenx. 

"Their true falling out happened here on Coruscant. Briila renounced Clan Kryze and Bo-Katan. There are many that do not like her for this very reason, but I expect it is because she was still in beskar, playing the part as a Mandalorian, when she knew in her heart she was not. Briila has never been a Kryze, she became a Kenobi the day she was left on Tatooine.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi was a good man. He tried to help Mandalore and Duchess Satine Kryze - Bo-Katan's older sister. There is a lot of Obi-Wan in Briila, I see it everytime we meet. It is why I think she never fit in amongst our people."

"She is Mandalorian," Din insisted after a bit of silence. "The beskar may not suit her, but you're wrong about that."

"The honor you see in her is the honor she learned from Kenobi, not from being Mandalorian," Korkie argued lightly, before launching into the history he knew of this Obi-Wan Kenobi. He listened on, enthralled by the tales of the Jedi and how war had brought them to a head with Mandalore during the Clone Wars. It had been the New Mandalorians - a pacifistic sect - that had strived for peace and Satine Kryze was amongst them. Obi-Wan Kenobi had loved her, Korkie knew of this, as he was Satine's most trusted advisor and family member. There was a lot of bad blood it seemed, such dark history on a planet that Din had never been to, and Briila was caught right in the middle of it all.

Then the man she called her father, Obi-Wan, was a general, a master, a good man from the accounts that Korkie detailed. While it was difficult to tell if his tale was objective, Din knew that he was telling it from the only side he knew. "Satine was killed by the Sith. She died in Obi-Wan's arms."

He flinched, thinking of the similarities between Briila and her master. Both had held their dying lovers, killed at the hands of the Empire. He thought back to Nevarro, how she had vehemently refused to leave him - even before they had begun their more intimate relationship.

"It seems you have seen this negotiator in Briila - although, she's a bit more cheeky than her predecessor, of this I acknowledge," Korkie admitted, sitting back in his seat. "She will be none too pleased that I've shared this, but I expect she is meditating to clear her head. If the two of you are to remain in the same clan, I think it is important you understand the amount of stress she has been under in the past decade. I doubt she would tell you, as I know it is painful for her to remember - perhaps even dangerous now that she has become a Jedi again."

Din nodded slowly, Grogu having crawled into his arms at this point, snoozing gently. "You don't believe she would have?"

"Going back to these memories is not only painful, but might change her frame of mental state. What happened on Moraband could very easily influence her if mentioned again. I saw it when she came to me - the whisperings of the Sith in her ears. Had she another master, I doubt she would have walked away with any trace of the Light still in her heart," Korkie explained, though Din still wasn't in full understanding of the Force. The professor had done well to go into as much detail and simplification, but it was still a lot of information. "Now going back to Ahsoka... This Jedi worked with Bo-Katan very closely. So you might understand that they're wary of one another and that Ahsoka has heard of Briila's time on Moraband. I am worried about them meeting, because Ahsoka may consider Briila a threat to the galaxy or that she's hiding the darkness inside herself. Ahsoka's own master turned Sith and he too was trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi... Although she looks much better now. The Light is strong in her as it was when we first met. This child, Grogu, has given her much hope. I think you have also had a hand in that Din Djarin."

"I should check on her," Din admitted, glancing toward the door that she had disappeared behind. His mind reeled with the history - a detailed history of the last decade of her life. He had faced the challenges of his own past, but those years were long behind him. The pain that Briila experienced was recent, not old. 

"Leave the child here to sleep. It is best you talk to her alone," Korkie suggested, gesturing to a plush chair that the kid could be put on.

Standing, Din turned, spotting a clock and to his astonishment, realizing that dawn was not far off. They had spent hours talking about the past and he hadn't realized it. He set Grogu down on the chair and turned, drawing in a deep breath before he approached the door and entered. It was dark inside the room aside from a single light turned on a desk. Briila sat in the center of the room meditating, her palms up on her knees, her body relaxed - all appearances of fury were gone.

"Briila," Din entreated softly, wondering if she would hear him or if she had gone into another comatose state.

She blinked a few times before looking at him. There were no emotions on her face. "He told you?"

Din nodded.

"You might understand why I never talked about my clan now," she said simply, pushing herself up to her feet.

"Yes, I do."

"I am glad he told you. I would not have been able to. It brings me a lot of pain just thinking about it," her countenance cracked, her eyes narrowing and her nose scrunching. He realized she was about to cry, but was forcing herself not to. "I was afraid to become a Jedi again because of the time I spent on Moraband. I was afraid that I would become Sith. That was why I feared training Grogu, because I saw darkness in him too."

"And you believe that going to find this, Ahsoka, is a good idea given your history?" Din inquired.

"I have walked the path of the Light. Ahsoka will see this when we meet," Briila retorted, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I was afraid that all this information would be too much for you. What would a bounty hunter want with a Jedi who has a mountain of baggage?"

"I didn't know anything about Jedi before I met you," Din reminded her kindly. "And everyone has baggage... perhaps just not as hard to believe as yours and your... magic."

Briila smiled, but her eyes spoke differently. She rushed forward, colliding with his beskar to embrace him. He held her, her warmth against him, the trust and understanding different than it was before "Ow, I didn't consider the beskar when I did that," she muttered, glancing up at him with bright, watery eyes. 

"Don't know what you're talking about, that didn't hurt at all," Din jested quietly, pressing a hand to her cheek. She laughed weakly and he knew this was the way. 

* * *

She should have been more furious with her uncle, but in the end, she was happy that he had done it. Unable to stomach being at the same table as her recent history was recounted, Briila hid in the bedroom, focusing on her meditation to escape the memories. Part of her wondered if Din would stay or take Grogu after hearing that she'd spent a year on Moraband - not that he would understand the severity of that. When he opened the door to speak to her, Briila felt emotions wash over her, but not dark ones. She was happy. 

Leaving the room behind to speak to her uncle again, she noticed that dawn was on the horizon and could see the crisp sunrise coming over the metropolis. Letting out a low breath, she approached the table and sat down again. 

"We need to know where Ahsoka is."

"No," Korkie answered simply. "But I will point you elsewhere, a place you might be able to get answers."

Briila felt irritated with her uncle protecting her, but managed a stout nod at his insistence. "Where?"

"I have read about a planet called Tython. There, you can place the child on a seeing stone," Korkie suggested.

Briila had heard of seeing stones, but she had never encountered one herself. They were like beacons, a way to transmit over the Force to others who were highly sensitive to it. If there were Jedi capable of caring for Grogu, they could possibly find them by utilizing this location. 

"Very well, that seems to be our best option if you will not tell us where Ahsoka is," Briila conceded, glancing over to Din who was rather quiet. She wondered if he was still thinking about what Korkie had shared with him. "I have a list of supplies that we need and I'm taking out some of my credits-"

"As expected, I've been keeping them safe since your chain codes were flagged," Korkie pushed himself to his feet, accepting the list she had offered him. "Why don't you go through some of your belongings while you're here? Heaven only knows when you're going to come back again."

After he stepped away, Briila turned to her partner. "How is Grogu?"

"Sleeping. Doesn't look like we're going to have much time to do anything," Din glanced over to the chair where the child was laying. 

"Why? Eager to get out of here so soon?" she mused, smiling slightly. "Give me another moment, I really should go through some of my things."

She went into the room she had been meditating in. For a while, she had stayed with Uncle Korkie, acquiring odds and ends as if it might fill her heart again. Those had been dark days, shadowed only by the light she experienced now. There was no looking back, only forward. Sifting through the junk, she did find some salvagable items, most of which included clothes. Packing what she could take with her, she paused when she saw the pauldron; Cenx's pauldron.

_ I should return this. I have none of his other beskar, but this belongs with the other beskar to return,  _ she thought. At a time, seeing this and the Kidus Clan sigil might have broken her heart, maybe even made her cry. But she had finally moved on. Cenx was in her heart, but she could have never lived beside him. It took her six years to come to terms with that. Her time beside him had only been delaying her inevitable return to the Jedi. Still, he had taught her many lessons, including how to be a lover. Clutching it, she couldn't even remember his face.

_ Funny that I don't know Din's face either,  _ she thought wryly, breaking the tension with a smile. Cenx would have liked Din, even if he would have claimed that he was 'One of those blasted religious zealots.' She didn't think that. She thought that Din was a foundling who cherished the life and guidance that the Mandalorians had given him and his helmet was an important piece in that. Putting the beskar in the pack, she promised that she would see it back, but she left Cenx behind. Behind with the Briila Kryze that had died on Moraband. 

This was her new chapter. Her struggles had made her stronger and tested her faith. She was Briila Kenobi. 

An image quavered in front of her, startling her. She fell back, reaching for her lightsaber, only to ogle at the vision before her. It was her father, it was Obi-Wan Kenobi as she had last seen him, an elderly man. There was no auburn in his hair, just snowy white, but he looked down on her smiling. "This is the way," he told her, before his Force spirit vanished.

Briila sat in stunned silence, unable to move or think for a few minutes. Eventually, she laughed, picking up her pack and letting go of the past. He had just confirmed it for her. She had made the right decision and she was steadily continuing on the path of light. "Right," she smoothed her robes and glanced back to where he had been standing. "You always knew the right thing to say, dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. I am fully aware that Korkie would not be her uncle. However, as in many cultures, a cousin who is significantly older and respected is often referred to as an uncle instead. This is the case with Briila. Korkie is her uncle due to the age difference and their relationship.


End file.
